Inappropriate Conduct
by Miss Information
Summary: An unwitting game of power is unfolding between enemies, turning forbidden intimate conduct into a confusing fight for control...but neither side can truly win this battle. Warning: contains strong adult themes.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This single piece took me hours to write, which is a sharp comparison to some of my other fics, so I hope you all like it – the heels of my wrists are red and sore for no good reason, otherwise.

I've given you a mystery pairing at the beginning, with fairly kinky undertones as things develop – it could've been a work of art, but it's just sex with a loose plot, starring my two favorites. You'll guess who these two are soon enough, though, since I just love creeping you folks out with this pairing. It's a one-shot, unless you all request for more.

Love it or shove it.

Disclaimer: I don't own 'em.

* * *

**Inappropriate Conduct**

* * *

He should have never asked her to join him for dinner.

But she'd been sitting there, heart-wrenchingly beautiful, devoid of her usual painted, gloomy mask and alone at her own table in that restaurant, obviously stood up on a date. She had been watching the candles in their holders burn to stubs, her eyes watery but her jaw set. Miserable and angry – though quite clearly she was experiencing more of the latter than the former. He knew she had a passionate streak. Nonetheless, he was willing to brave that passion and invite her to join him, because he had seen something underneath her quiet fury. There was something about the underlying vulnerability in her expression, something about it that appealed to him and had caused him to lose his grip on logic.

He should have never asked her to unburden her heart to him.

But eating in silence with company was impolite, and he knew that she was far too uncomfortable to be dining with an enemy to strike up a conversation herself. So he'd asked her what had brought her to that particular restaurant – she'd seemed surprised he'd asked, but she seemed to acknowledge in advance that he would get an answer out of her no matter how much effort it took. With a resigned tone in her voice, she'd told him why she was alone – she was there on a promise of a romantic night out which had, as on previous occasions, been conveniently forgotten by her date.

He should have never asked her what she planned for the remainder of the night.

But the conversation had dried up after her short explanation – she didn't leave him with much to question her about. It was actually something he valued in conversation; he always hated having to ask half a dozen questions to get to the point of things, but she was rather direct. Nonetheless, when he'd mentioned that the evening was still young she'd paused, having not given thought to that fact before. She admitted that, rather than enjoy the night as she'd planned, she was more than likely going to just hail a cab, go home and try to forget anything had happened.

He should have never offered to wait with her for that cab.

But he had. And, after an assessing look from her – a look that, upon reflection, made it seem as though she was well aware of what his offer would result in – she had accepted.

A heady sense of defiance was taking over his usually stable logic.

He could pinpoint the reason why – the reason had just accepted his jacket to protect herself from the cold night's air since she had forgotten to bring one, not having had the foresight to know she would be standing in the parking lot of the restaurant, waiting for a taxi cab. He watched her, arranging his face to an expression of mild curiosity in an attempt to conceal what he was thinking. She glanced up at him, noticing his eyes on her. In the hazy glow of the streetlights, he watched a faint blush slowly stain her high cheekbones.

It was nice to know that he wasn't the only one feeling this pleasurable discomfort.

He looked away from her, smiling slightly. She quickly turned her eyes back to the hedges beside them, but he could see from the corner of his eyes the way her hairline moved slightly – she was smiling as well, however small a smile it might be.

The sound of light piano music drifted into the street from the opening doors of the restaurant, as a handful of executives made for their respective cars. At the side of the building, the worn asphalt of the parking lot was well-disguised by a number of well-kept hedges and rose bushes. Along the footpath, at the entrance, there were more roses, with the closed flowers lending a decidedly sweet scent to the air that mingled with the smell of the food that wafted from inside.

He was never one to appreciate those little things all that much, but it seemed that she was. She had closed her eyes, with her head tilted just a little back and slightly to the side. Her expression was peaceful, her lips slightly curved upwards in a smile, as she let her senses take in what they would of the night's ambience.

He felt a need to disrupt her blissful peace. That expression of hers was reacting inappropriately in some usually ignored region of his mind.

_But_, the defiant, illogical part of his mind argued, _who decreed that those thoughts were 'inappropriate'?_

Nonetheless, he interrupted her peace – his organ of logic was still functioning, however impaired it might be. "Has this happened before, Rogue?" he asked her, belatedly realizing that he was being callous. Well, he reasoned with himself, he was her enemy, when it counted.

The girl opened her eyes as he spoke and looked up at him – an admirable quality, a sign of respect. She turned her face away, however, when she replied. "Bein' stood up by him, ya mean? It's happened b'fore," she admitted quietly. "Happens every so often, when he just feels like it. This is the third time."

He had no idea why she was being so forward with him. Either did she – the quickly fading reasonable part of her mind kept trying to remind her just _who_ it was standing beside her on that curb, waiting with her for her cab. But her reason and instinct was being overridden by the unexpected kindness he was displaying; not many enemies of hers were even remotely considerate, and she had thought none were gentlemanly enough keep her company on a sidewalk. She hadn't ever expected that _this_ one would, even.

She pushed aside her melancholy brooding and low-burning anger; she pushed aside thoughts of the one who had left her alone at that table, and looked up at _him_ again. He towered over her by about a foot, making her feel rather vulnerable for a reason entirely removed from all the times she could recall being at the mercy of him and his near limitless power. It was just the sort of vulnerability, however, that she could perhaps become accustomed to. Feminism and a life of looking out for number one, be damned…she loved a man in control.

And who was more in control of himself and those around him than the Master of Magnetism?

Magneto felt her eyes on him; he turned to look down at her. She was studying him curiously and she flared a high red to be caught doing so, but she didn't look away.

"You aren't at all anxious to have me keeping you company?" he asked, slightly smiling at the color spreading across her cheeks.

"Fairly anxious," she admitted honestly. "But we only had dinner. If ya were gonna kill me or abduct me or make a pitch for me ta join the Brotherhood again, ya woulda done it by now." She mirrored his small smile. "An' ya probably wouldn't have bought that wine, or picked up the check."

His mouth twitched upwards a little more. She was probably right. "Fair enough."

An easy silence fell between them. A slight wind brushed around the both of them, playing with the lace hem of Rogue's long green dress, pulling her hair out of its elaborate twist. Magneto watched her, his smile fading. Something darker was rising at the back of his mind – something that had crossed his mind before, but never as an actual possibility.

Something she had no idea real about, which made the thoughts all the more indulgent.

A set of white headlights pierced through his musing. A yellow and black cab rolled into view, stopping directly in front of them. The driver blatantly looked Rogue up and down, hanging out of the window and demanding to know if she was the one who'd called for him.

The girl nodded and began to shed the coat. "Ah guess this is goodnight, then," she said, smiling slightly again. She was still blushing lightly, only now anxiousness was taking hold of her more steadily. "Thanks for waitin' here."

She handed him his coat, trying to fight back the color in her cheeks. It wasn't helped by the heady feeling she'd had since she'd sat down at his table. It wasn't helped by the way her skin seemed to ripple with a sensation she wasn't aware of when their hands made contact – even though her gloves it was electric – as she handed him his coat.

It _definitely_ wasn't helped by that expression he had fixed her with. No one had ever looked at her like that in her life – at least, never so blatantly. As naïve to the world of sensuality and all things associated with it as she was, she knew what his hardening gaze implied.

But he was…_him_. And she was an X-Man.

Why didn't that seem to matter, right now?

Pulling herself away, feeling both cold with fear and warm with an unusual inner heat at the same time, she opened the cab door and moved to get in. If she could just leave now, the electricity between them would be broken – things would resume as they were. No one would ever need to know about this night; nothing would ever come of it.

Rational thought fled from him as she alighted one foot into the cab. He seized hold of her forearms – the silken opera gloves she wore seeming to elicit sensations that headed straight to his rising need – and held her in mid-step. Feeling far more forward than he'd expected of himself, he came to stand directly behind her, aligning her slight back against his front, and bent his lips down to her ear.

His voice was low in pitch and volume, thick with promise. His message was clearer than a bell.

"My dear…are you certain you want to leave right now?"

* * *

In his sleek Porsche, as they went tearing along the city streets, she was leaning over in her seat, unbuckled and amazingly uninhibited, gently tracing his jaw with her soft fingertips. She watched her own exploration of him with those wide green eyes of hers, marveling in the sensations of touch. "How?" she asked breathily, her eyes flickering up to his.

He smiled a slow smile, and indulged her question. "A shield of sorts," he explained. "A magnetic shield. A constant barrier. One that allows sufficient protection from external forces but is barely existent."

"When did ya come up with that?" she asked, still watching his eyes.

"Years ago. I spent some time experimenting with radioactive substances…this was much more simple than bothering those biohazard suits."

Rogue raised an eyebrow at the comment. She and radioactive substances seemed to have a common trait, then – she'd always made similar comparisons to Kitty; now it seemed they were more founded than she'd thought. She didn't dwell on it for too long. Her eyes left his, moving to her own ungloved hand again, which was now gently caressing his neck. Her right hand moved to the buttons of his collar, popping it open with a lazy flick.

Magneto caught her hand before she could unbutton any further. "Patience, Rogue," he told her levelly.

She smiled slightly, but obeyed.

* * *

The door to the suite snapped closed.

Magneto dropped the key onto the awaiting hook by the door and turned to watch Rogue. She was already at the left corner of the room. She had removed the bobby pins and clips from her hair – shaking out her auburn kinks – and had now quietly set about removing her high heels, standing with her back to him. Her undone and disheveled look, marring the polished appearance her formal attire gave her, was all the more enflaming. With a few short strides, Magneto was behind her, one arm encircling her waist and his free hand gently caressing her heated cheek.

"You have one last chance to back away," he told her quietly. Never, not in any irrational thought, had he ever thought he would be in this situation – holding tightly a woman he'd tried to kill, a woman who'd tried to kill him, with the intent of destroying the black-and-white line that stood between them and made them enemies. What this would make them remained to be seen.

Indeed, how would things develop from this night? What _could_ develop? Of all Xavier's students, she was the most unsure in her conviction of his ridiculous dream. She was the most…corruptible? Yes, that was the right term for it. Why else would she be standing before him now in this quiet hotel suite, her back pressed against his chest and her eyes fluttering closed in contentment?

At the same time, Magneto doubted that even were they to continue this on future occasions she would require far more persuasion before she left Xavier's Institute. Perhaps he might try to persuade her. The idea was appealing. However, at the same time, he knew she wouldn't attempt to make him 'see the light', as any of her fellow team members might – she wouldn't preach the doctrine delivered to her by Charles. It was all the more delightful.

"If you want to stop, and forget that we had ever come here, now is the time to say so," he told her gently, not looking directly at her but at her odd white stripe, sweeping over her face from the rest of her side-parted hair, as he ran it through his fingers. He wasn't entirely sure that he could follow through with his promise to stop now – this heady feeling of defiance was an unusual high; the odd light in her expression was all the more provoking; he was already far too aroused. To him, there was already no stopping.

However she had no intention of backing away. His gentle, restrained offer carried an underlying tone of danger that made her tremble all over – refusing him was out of the question. She was so very slight compared to him with her shoes removed – their borrowed height was lost. She turned in his arms, pressing her hands against his chest and looking up at him cautiously. Raising herself on her toes, Rogue gently passed a hand over his strong jaw and turned her face up to his in a gesture of pure submissiveness that sent a thrill right to the heart of his desire.

She was trying her very best to think of the repercussions of this. Her teammates would know she'd been stood up, because _that one_ would have either remained at the Institute for the night or headed out to some bar to stumble back plastered in the early hours of dawn. They would have been expecting her to come home early, perhaps at ten o'clock at the latest…not only God knows what hour it would be when Magneto would let her leave. They would ask questions about where she'd been, and they would ask why…and, after all, you can't really lie to your family, especially if that circle included telepaths.

They'd know what she'd done. It wouldn't ever drop, especially if Magneto decided to make more than just one night out of this, because she wouldn't say no to him. She would have to face accusations, disgusted looks, exasperated outbursts, lectures…

…If only she cared.

He wound his other arm about her small waist and pulled her in closely, capturing her faintly wine-stained lips in a fierce, bruising kiss. The sensation hit him low, making him tighten his hold on her. She seemed to mould into his hands, leaning into him to keep herself steady.

When they broke apart he stared down at her, and her up at him, both of them somewhat bewildered. She raised a shaking, tentative hand to her reddened lips, staring up at him with those wide green eyes of hers. She hadn't thought that a kiss would actually feel that heated and passionate – she'd never thought that Magneto, of all people, would make her feel like that. She blinked up at him, feeling mystified. "That…"

A dark smile crossed his face and she found she couldn't remember what she had been going to say. Her breath caught and his arms abruptly tightened around her again, pulling her roughly against him as he sought out the smooth, virginal flesh of her throat. He pressed fleeting and light kisses to her neck, the sensation so quick and dizzying that her eyes fluttered closed and she melted internally. Heat flared beneath her stomach, rendering her legs weak, as coherent thought began to slip out of her grasp.

Magneto was hardly conscious of his assault on the girl – he was more aware of her actions than his own. She had begun to move her hands up to the buttons of his shirt again; she didn't even seem conscious of what she was doing. She pulled the undone garment away from him, gave a momentary attempt to pull it over his arms but gave up when she realized he wasn't going to released his tight hold on her. She settled for tracing patterns on his chest with her still-gloved fingers.

The feel of the silk was highly pleasurable, but it provoked unreasonable anger in him somehow. He released her abruptly, pulling away from her throat and simultaneously seizing her hands. He tore the opera gloves away from her, dropping them carelessly.

Still dazed, Rogue opened her mouth to protest only to receive another searing kiss. Magneto took full advantage of her parted lips and sought out her tongue with his own, purposefully stroking the inside of her mouth. He caught hold of her shoulders, beginning to push the straps of her green dress away but leaving the violet lace underwear exposed there as it was. The garment required a little help over her breasts and hips, but soon enough the material was pooled around her feet. He finally dropped his shirt aside with it.

In one fluid movement, he had her straddling his waist, her ankles crossed at the small of his back and her arms around his neck. He held her thighs, clutching her harshly. She was moaning against his mouth, tightening her legs about him and pushing insistently into his hips. The ready warmth of her lace-clad core pressing against him so urgently was eating away at the last of his restraint.

He crossed the room, holding her tightly, coming to kneel on the wide bed. He leaned forward, finally breaking their kiss and laying her down in the white mass of the bedspread. His head sank with her prone figure, coming to rest in the crook of her neck.

His soft touches ended there. With one abrupt, harsh motion he had her wrists in his grasp. He held her hands firmly at either side of her head and bit into the creamy skin above her collarbone sharply, eliciting another moan from her, before soothing the reddening imprint of his teeth with a gentle kiss.

Rogue arched into his touch as he raked a fierce attack over her shoulders, neck and collarbone. He stopped every so often, dropping a sweet kiss to a chosen red blemish. She could only writhe under his attentions, pulling at his hold on her wrists. He intensified his grip, biting all the more harshly into her flesh. The pressure of his strong teeth wasn't enough to break her skin, but it was more than enough to ensure she would have bruises to show for this night. It was a dizzying thought – coupled with the sharp sensation of his teeth against her, it made every nerve ending she possessed come alive.

Magneto abruptly released her hands and directly sought her hips. He grasped the violet lace scrap there, yanking it away in a sudden, swift motion. The sound as the garment rendered elicited another moan from the girl beneath him. She was _enjoying_ his rough handling of her. It was a revelation that surprised, angered and aroused him in a furious combination that he couldn't recall having felt before.

He sat up on his knees, towering over her helpless form. This sense of power she allowed him was remarkable – his head was spinning with the drunken state it left him in. Beneath him, hardly conscious of her near nudity, Rogue reached up with one tentative hand to brush lightly at the sweat beads that had begun to form on his brow. He allowed her that much before restraining her wandering hand tightly.

And, somewhat unbidden, he began to talk.

"Tell me something, Rogue…" He paused for a brief moment, making a conscious effort to keep all signs of his want out of his voice. "Tell me what you want."

She briefly considered replying with a smart-ass remark – a million dollars and world peace? But that steely look was still in his eyes; she wasn't going to risk making him lose his temper. Brutally honest seemed to be the best answer to give, but as she opened her mouth she couldn't find her voice. He had begun gently caressing her thighs, making her tremble violently. She could only sigh, her contentment slightly marred by a hidden want.

"I'm still waiting on an answer," he told her sternly, still watching her.

Her eyes closed – his resolute demand was more exciting than the gentle touch he was applying lightly though the material of her stockings. "Ah want the bitin' again," she admitted huskily. "Ah want that sharp feelin', the soreness an' the heat. Ah wanna hurt, just a little. Ah want ta feel more than light touches an' sweet caresses." She frowned behind her closed eyes. "Ah've already had all that."

Magneto's gentle caress against her thighs paused momentarily, then resumed – even lighter than before. "Who?" he asked, his voice impassive.

Her eyes opened again. "Not like that," she said quietly. "Ah never have…no. Ah've only ever been held gently, felt a gloved hand against mah face, had someone run a hand through mah hair…nothin' like this." She moved slightly beneath him, blushing furiously. There was something rather unnerving about admitting this aloud, especially to him, but somehow the unsettling feeling mingled into heady desire – she really _did_ love it when someone else took control.

But he wouldn't let her dwell on that. He abandoned his light touches at her thighs and leaned over her again, holding himself up upon his elbows as he non-too-gently bit into the crook of her neck. She moaned, caught between soothing gratification and low-flaring lust, and rose into the touch.

Leaning his weight upon one arm, he took her hand and guided her to his belt. Without a moments hesitation, she pulled the leather strap open and away from him. She paused then, however, waiting for permission as she gently laid a touch to the button of his fly.

In lieu of spoken consent, he bit harder into her neck. Her desire-soaked moan thrilled along his spine as her slight fingers began to carefully release him from the surprisingly cramped confinement of his pants. He groaned aloud against her reddened throat, unable to keep the pleasured sound at bay, as his hampered erection sprang free.

His patience sank away – he was no longer content with simple touch. Still holding his weight on one arm, he reached his free hand between them, to the apex of her thighs. He covered her there with his calloused hand, savoring her warmth for a brief moment, before he began a slow and gentle trail over the valley of her sex.

His touch was torturous – he was openly defying her need for coarse, stinging sensation – but there was no complaining to him. Rogue knew, in the dark glint in his eyes as he watched her, that he was enjoying her utter submissiveness as much as she enjoyed his complete domination. There was no room for her to complain or request _anything_ in this arrangement. She could only mewl helplessly with frustrated pleasure, tossing her head from side to side, silently praying for him to apply more pressure, to be more forceful…

Magneto kept his eyes on her face, but his entire concentration was on what he could _feel_. Her skin was superheated; her slight, untried opening was growing all the more dampened as he touched her. Still staring intently into her bright green eyes, he made a gesture to end that frustration somewhat – he slid his explorative touch away from her opening and harshly pinched the sensitized nub of nerve endings above it.

Rogue's eyes rolled back; her hips raised off the bed. He continued to apply pressure to her most sensitive point, his breath becoming ragged as he watched her twist beneath him. He squeezed the little pearl of flesh harder, _harder_…until he received the response he wanted.

A long, almost pained cry filled the air – Rogue was barely aware that she was the source of it. Magneto released her, causing her cry to be cut off in a whimper. Staring down at her still, with that steely, lust-ridden gaze of his, he squeezed again, harder still. She moaned loudly, her legs falling further apart as her hips rose, a gesture of begging for more.

But he released her. His hand trailed back down to her opening – he gently tested her, pushing slightly against her there with a knuckle. Her hips jerked involuntarily into his touch. Her cheeks were colored a high red; her eyes were so heavy with lust that her lids drooped; her breathing was jagged, matching his own. She was beyond prepared and willing. He reached for her hand once more, guiding her to grasp his erection. She complied, squeezing him in her shaking grip as he proceeded to remove what was left of his clothing.

His shoes fell to the floor with a thud just as she reached the most sensitive part of him; the rapidly coloring head of his cock. He hissed, eyes slamming closed, and grit his teeth. Encouraged, she ran a nail gently along the slit, dragging the heavy bead of moisture that stood there down the vein-laced shaft and to the very base of the organ.

Finally managing to free himself of his remaining clothes, he roughly grasped her hand and pulled her away from him. He sought out her other hand, which had been curled and clutched in the bedsheets, and held both of them as he had before on either side of her head, pinned down tightly.

She tilted her hips up to his, now staring at him with wide, anticipating eyes. The realization of her inexperience hit him low in the gut, but only served to stoke the fire of his lust. He pushed the purple head of his erection against her opening, sliding just the very tip into her.

Her eyes widened further as he stretched her. The unfamiliarity of it made the color in her face become more pronounced. The sensation had her biting her bottom lip tightly. It was going to hurt – it would hurt like hell, if what Kitty had told her was right. But, unlike Kitty, Rogue welcomed it. She clenched her inner muscles against what of him she had in her, drawing another sharp hiss from him.

He resumed drawing into her wet heat, all the more slowly. He knew, somewhat instinctively, what she wanted of this first contact. Barely an inch into her, he felt the slight resistance of her natural barrier. With slow deliberation, he pressed forward.

Rogue's gasping became a high-pitched, mournful wail. Her virginal skin was slowly, torturously breaking – that ache, coupled with the pleasurable stretching his vein-crossed appendage demanded of her, was such a heady sensation that she barely noticed the pained tears that rolled over her cheeks.

Magneto watched her, writhing in an intense combination of pain and pleasure. He felt an impulse to sooth away her tears as they fell, but a more dominant desire for both his and her gratification already held most of his attention; he had no room in his conscious thought to accommodate any other want.

She arched, her cry dying out as he finally broke through her inner barrier. Still, he would not pause, nor would he give her time to accommodate to this new sensation – he continued to slowly sheath himself inside her until he was entirely enveloped. He held the two of them together that way for a long moment, before beginning to establish a slow rhythmic series of paced thrusts.

To her, it felt as though he was cleaving a passage through her entire body, right to the back of her throat. A slow spread of electricity shocked over her skin with each masterful stroke he dealt her, leaving her gasping for air. Above her and still holding her down tightly, Magneto kept his darkened eyes locked to hers. Every time they broke the contact, it would be her doing – her tossing her head from side to side; her letting her lids fall in sensual abandon.

All conscious thought was lost to him now. He could only feel two things – hedonistic pleasure and a ridiculous sense of control. The further he sank into the sensation of her, though, the further his sense of control waned. His hold on her wrists tightened; his thrusts took an urgent edge. Beneath him, flushed and rumpled and beautiful, Rogue arched her back and moaned breathily.

The tension she held him with in her thighs was causing her stockings to rub her skin raw. The bruises on her shoulders were beginning to ache. The grip he held her wrists in was beginning to turn painful. But none of it mattered. All she could think of was the rough slide of his chest against her lace-bound breasts, the constant and tantalizing slap of his balls against her, the blood-hardened appendage inside of her that was eliciting sensations in her that she hadn't been aware of before.

She began to moan in earnest. She threw her head back into the pillows beneath her, exposing the long line of her white throat. Purple bruises were already forming there, where he'd bitten her. Her moans started to become whispered screams. Magneto felt something click in the back of his lust-fogged mind – his control had snapped. It was the last coherent revelation he had for a while.

He finally broke his gaze on her, groaning aloud in abandon and sinking his head down to rest his forehead in the pillows beneath her. She was tightening around him, coming closer to completion – it wouldn't be long for her. The added tension was the most pleasurable sensation…but still it was not quite enough. He was still far from his end.

That changed instantaneously as she bucked against him violently, teeth clenched against a pleasure so intense it blinded her. A vicious climax took her over, pulling the longest, loudest moan from her yet. As her cry died and her blissful agony continued, she did the only thing she could – she bit down on the nearest thing; his chest.

His skin broke under the pressure of her teeth. Magneto raised up again, eyes closed tightly. Every muscle in his body contracted, pulling tensely. He all but roared with the sensation that ripped through him, as a final, fierce thrust spilled his seed within her.

…For a long moment, the two of them remained still save for the rapid rising and falling of their chests under their labored breathing. A sweat drop rolled from his forehead to fall onto the heated skin of her throat. Both stared at each other, their eyes blank.

But neither moved.

Magneto broke the stillness, finally releasing her wrists. Rogue hissed sharply as the tension he had held in them was replaced with an ache. Gently pulling away from her, he smiled almost remorsefully. "Have I hurt you, my dear?" he asked.

Rogue massaged her wrists, still lying on her back as he settled to lie at her side. She nodded, but didn't look at all phased by it. "Ah understood that was part of the idea," she told him, settling her arms down in the very position he'd held them in.

"Indeed," he agreed. Still, he smiled his slight smile at her, even when he tugged at a lock of her hair sharply. "You wounded me." He gestured to the small but bloodied bite mark on his chest.

She stretched as much as her aching muscles allowed, before lolling her head to the side to look up at him. "How do Ah make up for it?" she asked quietly.

He gently traced a line along her collarbone, causing her eyes to flutter closed. "I will think of something," he returned. "Your penance will be extracted another day."

The girl smiled slightly, finally.

Watching her bruised lips curve upwards, Magneto began to chuckle lightly. When she opened her eyes, looking curiously at him, he began stroking her sweat-soaked hair from her face. "I had almost expected you would abhor the idea of establishing such a relationship with anyone, let alone with the enemy of your mentor," he told her.

Rogue looked at him thoughtfully, then ghosted a finger over his caressing hand. "Ah don't mind," she replied honestly. "As long as ya want me, Ah'm here."

"_Good_." He captured her wandering hand and laid a gentle kiss over her fingers.

She allowed herself another moment before she began to think practically again – the first thought to spring to her mind demanded to know the time. With a twinge of discomfort and a sigh, she rolled to her side and sought out the clock on the bedside table. It was two-thirty in the morning. "Ah should go," she said. Rather than sitting up, she rolled back to him. "May Ah go?"

He nodded his assent. "It would probably do to take a shower first. One of your guardians has heightened senses, after all." He sat up on the edge of the bed with his back to her.

As she got up, she gingerly touched a bruise on her shoulder and gave him a smile over her shoulder. "Ah think Ah'm gonna get questioned anyway, whether he can smell what Ah've done or not. Maybe not now, but it'll happen."

That was true enough. "Does that bother you?" he asked, reaching for his trousers and beginning to pull them on.

The girl shook her head, replying "no" and began to retrieve her clothes, casting aside her torn underwear into a wastepaper bin. She padded to the bathroom, twisting up her hair in one hand as she went. It wasn't likely that he would be there when she emerged – they both knew. Rogue wasn't sure if that was relieving or disheartening. Magneto was wondering the same.

"One last thing, my dear…" Magneto said, making her turn just as she opened the bathroom door. He finished buttoning his pants, smiling slightly at her. "When we are alone, it would suit you well to call me 'sir'."

She flushed furiously, though not in humiliation or anger. "Of course, suh."

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own 'em.

A/N: Some of you wanted it; some of you didn't. Some of you were so disgusted and appalled when you realized what the pairing was that you immediately clicked the 'back' button, formatted your computer and sought out a priest for an exorcism ritual. Well, whether you were one who asked for it or not, here it is. I just couldn't let it die that easily. Anyway, it's more Rogue-centric this time – dealing with the 'morning after'.

On an unrelated note, this story got more hits than any predecessors I wrote. It just goes to show you; be vague in the summary, promise tension and throw in some sexy sexin', and you'll get results.

So…yes. Love it or shove it.

* * *

**Inappropriate Conduct**

Chapter Two

* * *

"You're not…upset? Not at _all_?"

Kitty stared down at her former roommate slack-jawed. Rogue, stretched out on a library sofa, was placidly flipping through 'Jane Eyre' without a single tense muscle in her face, without a twitch in her eye, and without an aura suggestive of the calm before a storm. Usually, after such an event as this, she was pacing, tense and saying the words 'bastard' and 'Casanova' continuously…but not this time. There was no trace of rage in her. She was quite poised, in fact – her limbs were loose, her expression was clear and her eyes, usually a window to her raging soul, were calm and still. She was the embodiment of all things composed and serene – she could've been pulled straight off of a travel brochure or a furniture commercial. Kitty raised an eyebrow quizzically.

"Did you absorb Storm recently, or something?"

Rogue's mouth twitched upwards slightly. "Or somethin'."

"Right…" Kitty paused. "So…you're not at all upset?"

"Didn't say _that_." Rogue looked up from her passage in the book. "Ah'm mad as hell. But not so mad that Ah can't stop mahself from bein' snarky at ya."

That didn't sound like her at all. "That doesn't sound like you at all," Kitty said. She winced internally – she really had to work on not just saying anything that jumped into her head.

Rogue sighed, marked her page in the book and snapped it shut. "_Should_ Ah bite yoh head off?" she asked, as though she were asking a five year old if he'd washed his hands after going to the bathroom.

Kitty shook her head 'no' rapidly. "No…no, I like where my head is just fine, thanks."

"Uh huh." Rogue swung her legs back off of the armrest of the sofa, sitting on it properly now. She shook her head at Kitty, who was still staring at her. "What?"

"Something's…up with you," the younger girl said, beginning to regard Rogue slightly suspiciously. "What is it?"

Rogue looked away as casually as possible, trying to hide her flaming face. Kitty didn't seen anything, except Rogue tucking her head away slowly.

"You're not just…you know…_giving up_, are you? You're not just resigning to it, because you know it'll happen again? You're not just going to put up with it, right?"

That was a convenient twist to the truth. She could have made it look like she had finally resigned to life as it would be, dating this 'forgetful' man, but she had a conscience – if she went with that construction, the facts would be a harder blow when dealt.

So she didn't feed into Kitty's theory.

Rogue looked up at Kitty, but only when she was confident that her face was the right shade again. "Ah'm fine, Kitty. Ah'm not broken or spiralin' inta depression, or anythin' like that. Ah'm just…Ah'm just gonna handle this a little more quieter than usual. No one needs ta hear mah problems."

Kitty's mouth twisted just a little. "Last time you bottled everything up…"

"Ah know, Ah know…" Rogue waved it off. "This isn't everythin' though – this is just one little problem."

"So now you're trying to trivialize your relationship."

Rogue closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. "Have ya been readin' Jean's psychology text books or somethin'? Watchin' 'Dr Phil' too much?"

Kitty gave her a wry look. "You don't want to talk about it, huh?"

She shook her head 'no' again. "If it makes ya feel any better, what Ah _want _ta do is find him an' tear him a new one."

"Marginally better." Kitty turned to go, but stopped. "But, uh…you're not actually _going_ to tear him a 'new one', right?"

Rogue opened the book again and smiled fiendishly. "Of course not. Why ever would ya doubt me?"

Kitty's eyes widened and she suppressed an involuntary shiver. "Okay…you are seriously up there with Wolverine and Mystique on the list of people who shouldn't be allowed to smile like that." She slipped out of the library, followed by Rogue's quiet laugh.

* * *

The truth of the matter was that – yes – Rogue was rather angry. In fact, angry really didn't cover it; there were points when she would swear blood clots were drifting over her retinas because she could only see _red_. At other intervals, she would picture in her mind's eye the empty place across the table from her at that restaurant, and she was left wanting to hunt down the man who'd left that space vacant and torture him in such a manner that would make Sabertooth cringe. But…in following that line of thought, her mind always drifted – inevitably – to the man who'd the place that had been left empty.

With her forearms deep in bubbly dishwater and with the plates of the evening meal beside her, Rogue could feel a distinct pair of eyes on her back – she had no need to _hunt_ him anymore; they'd been assigned to dishes duty. He sat on the counter behind her, watching her as she placed clean and wet dishes on the drying rack on her right. He watched her like she were an unexploded and armed bomb. He was twisting a terry dishcloth nervously between his hands.

The cloth was humming with kinetic energy.

She was wishing that she could think of the better half of that night again. At that moment, all she could focus on was her deep, low-burning rage.

"Y' gonna talk, _chère_?"

The rage filled her, slowly spreading like a malignant tumor. She couldn't open her mouth; she couldn't look at him – if she did, she'd inevitably start to throw the Professor's fine china at his head.

Gambit pulled the charge from the dishcloth and slowly slid off of the bench. "M' sorry, for what it's good for."

His apologies were good for _nothing_. She wished she had the self-control to tell him so, but she didn't. In lieu of her reply, they found themselves stuck in an uncomfortable, cold silence. The rage in Rogue kept her warm against the silence, however – it spread into her fingers, into her toes, over her cooling heart, making her feel warm all over.

Which was a whole lot more, in retrospect, than he'd ever done.

Unfortunately she'd already lost her moral high-ground in the situation. She'd done something to him that was worse than what he'd done to her. They hadn't been dating that long, but they had still been dating. And though Rogue had never really expected faithfulness from a man with a reputation like Gambit's, she was certain that neither of them had expected _her_ to do this. _She_ certainly hadn't seen it coming. But it had happened and now she was the bad guy, ultimately.

Still, although it wilted slightly, her rage wouldn't die. He had to shoulder _some_ of the blame.

Behind her, Gambit sighed, frustrated with her unresponsiveness. "Yell at me, Rogue. I know I deserve it."

She didn't yell. She swallowed down the bitter lump in her throat, attempted to un-tense her features and wiped clean another plate. "Where'd ya go?" she asked, stacking the plate on the dish rack.

There was a slight pause. "A nightclub."

Rogue's right hand clenched around a glass. She washed it quickly and put it aside before she broke it. She knew what a nightclub inevitably meant – there was only one reason people went to those places, after all. "Meet anyone interestin'?"

Another pause – a silence that was loaded with more meaning than words could ever carry.

How about that, then? They'd _both_ been in bad company. "Don't worry, Remy, Ah never expected monogamy," she told him bluntly. Her rage was filling her again; her guilt was tapering off. It seemed they were _both_ the bad guy now.

The dishcloth was flung to the floor. Rogue was pulled out of the dishwater and spun around to meet a pair of confused and angry red-on-black eyes. He stared her down in consternation for a long time before finally releasing her from his shaking grip. "I…I don't geddit, Rogue. Where's de anger?"

Rogue bit her bottom lip and looked back to the sink. She tried to hold her features in a neutral expression. Her famous anger was there, alright – it was threatening to burst out. She swallowed it down with tremendous effort, sighing as it subsided just enough so she could speak again. "What's the point in gettin' angry?" she asked, sounding hopeless and hollow. "S'all just more _words_ in the end."

"Dis ain't like y'." Remy grabbed the dishcloth again and finally began drying the dishes, perhaps with too much vigor. "Normally y' woulda at least _tried_ t' give me a black eye by now."

"Normally," Rogue agreed quietly, turning back to the bubbly dishwater. But, normally, she wouldn't have spent the best part of the evening in a hotel room with Magneto, and – even if she had – they _certainly_ wouldn't have been…

"What's changed, den?"

Rogue blinked.

What had changed, he wanted to know? A lot, actually, at least from where she stood – some of the changes were good and some were bad. Her state of seemingly perpetual virginity had come to an end; the general 'no way out of myself' feeling wasn't there anymore, either…though this was perhaps all at the price of her feeling of ease in the place she regarded as home. She wanted to tell him these things, honestly. She wanted to tell him that she was starting to feel good about life again, though uneasy about her place in it – she was starting to think that maybe she wasn't stuck between her powers and a hard spot. And she was _wanted_. Yes, wanted in a way that left her dizzy and blushing. It felt so good to be desirable. It made her feel so alive.

But she couldn't say any of those things.

Instead of telling him so, she looked up at him carefully. She _let_ her rage wash over her – she let the warmth spread. She let the anger harden her eyes and flush her cheeks. She waited until the bitterness in his stare was gone, extinguished under the fury of her glare.

"What's changed?" he repeated, speaking with a whole lot less steam.

Rogue smiled coldly. "Ah had fun last night, too," she whispered.

Gambit reeled back, almost stumbling away from her – she may as well have hit him. There was absolutely no question as to what she meant – the glint in her eye eliminated that.

Rogue resumed cleaning the dishes, looking nonchalant. "Wha's wrong, Remy? Can't take it like ya give it?"

The dishcloth was flung down. Rogue turned away from the sink in time to see the swinging door of the kitchen mask the departure of the Cajun. She sighed heavily and plucked the dishcloth from the floor – her anger was already gone, draining from her in an instant and leaving with the strength she'd borrowed from it. Feeling weak and small, she dropped the dishcloth back on the counter and turned to the dishes. She was left with twice the usual amount of work for her tonight, but…she felt like she deserved it.

* * *

She was running.

…Running not in the sense that she was partaking of a vigorous exercise, but running in the sense that she was fleeing in complete terror from whatever lay behind her. In reality, there was nothing there other than the trees, benches and overflowing trashcans that made up Bayville Park, but she ran in abandon nonetheless. Her breathing was panicked, her eyes were wide and scared, her skin was both pale and flushed at the same time – she ran like her life depended on it. She ran with all she had in her, until abruptly coming to a halt in beside yet another ramshackle bench, nearly identical to all the others save that this one proclaimed 'Mort' on the backrest in silver, sprayed-on letters as big as her head.

She laid a hand on the backrest, panting heavily. Her panicked expression vanished instantaneously as she sank into the seat, her legs gratefully giving way beneath her as she crumbled. She'd run all the way to the park from the Institute, from her room to this very park bench…in the middle of the evening.

Why, though?

Rogue laid her head back and stared up at the starry sky. She hadn't said a word to anyone before sprinting away. She'd be in trouble when she got back, but – she reasoned with herself – she was already in deep trouble. This would get her more than just a light rap on the wrist and a brief admonishment from the Professor. She could be kicked out of the Institute entirely. Would the Brotherhood still be an option? Did she even want it to be?

She knew she had to think, to form a plan of action for when the inevitable happened, for when she was found out, but she just couldn't. Her mind was everywhere but where it should be – all she could think of was her triumph.

It might seem near non-existent to a third party, but it was there – her power was there. She had a firm hold of might and authority, now, and not just as an object of desirability…though that was a power in its own right. The power she held was removed from actual control – it was the power of an unstable, uncertain catalyst in a disaster. _She_ was the catalyst, wielding the power of promised destruction over the unsuspecting heads of both her enemies and her family. With one admission, she could bring down so much – _years_ of struggles and successes would be laid waste beneath it; team ethics and trust would be shattered; suspicion would run high and fast. She had power, more than even her mutant ability could provide her with…

It was a more cheering thought than it should have been, but for the first time in a long time, even as old problems remained like persistent scars of dissatisfaction and there was still so much she wanted to change…things were falling into her control.

However…that wasn't to say she wanted to _use_ this power.

She loved her place in life. The Professor had instilled himself in her heart as more of a kindly uncle than a teacher and benefactor. The Institute was a tranquil, beautiful place. The X-Men were a strong and formidable team, one that it paid to be a part of. She had friends there, and she had discovered family there. She didn't want to destroy everything she held dear. Small dissatisfactions could always be pushed aside when she thought about the greater picture – so what if she couldn't control her powers? She had people who cared for her still, even though she was dangerous. And though she told Magneto last night that she didn't care if they found out…she really _did_…and she wouldn't stop caring, especially not just because of something so selfish as this affair.

Rogue snapped out of her thoughts and frowned at herself. She got to her feet. She was already going to be in trouble for running off without warning – she'd probably better not get in trouble for breaking curfew too. She began lightly jogging back from whence she came.

It didn't occur to her once, though she had little to think about in her solitary run, that she could have used this power against her enemies…even against the very man who'd given it to her.

* * *

As Rogue ran like a startled deer from the Institute, Magneto paced like a caged bear in his study.

Unlike her, his thoughts were far from any possible ramifications of his actions. He had tried and tried again to imagine just how this arrangement could effect his own authority as a leader – after all, who would follow a man who bedded a girl young enough to be his granddaughter? A girl who was only perhaps a year older than his own children? He tried to think about what the revelation could do to the X-Men, and whilst he thought anything that weakened them was a terrific thing he was reluctant to directly wound Charles in that manner – the two had been friends, once; to set about seducing one of Xavier's students went against the quiet, grudging respect he still held for the man. He tried to think of his cause – he was accepting a lover who would never advocate his movements, who would perhaps try to dissuade him…would he listen to her if she did try? Would his cause begin to lag and crumble?

But he found he couldn't care less about these things, which surprised and appalled him. He could _imagine_ the reactions of those around them – Xavier, his children, her fellow X-Men, his followers…they would all be betrayed, confused and enraged. He could see his authority as a leader tapering off, even just slightly, in light of the ridiculous notion that he sought after a woman so very much younger than him. He could even see his cause beginning to wane as he devoted time and interest to her, tiptoeing around her watchful guardians…but…

All he could actually focus on was the constant, undying want that was eating away at the edge of his freewill, pushing him back to her.

He'd certainly felt desire for her before last night. She was a young woman, with such singular and beautiful features, and a lithe form – he was only a man, after all; surely it would have been more suspicious if he hadn't felt desire for her! But by the time logic had fled from his mind and they'd fallen into that hotel room, he had already determined that this would become a regular occurrence. Alone, though still with slightly-clouded judgment, he tried to ask himself why.

…And he received no answer.

She was pretty, yes, but he was above seeking a companion for no reason other than physical attractiveness. She was powerful, but that had nothing to do with their arrangement. She had a singular personality, but they had hardly talked after leaving the restaurant. He couldn't make sense of his want – the only thing that was different about her from any other was her submissiveness.

Perhaps that was it. All the women of his past were too proud, too correct and too knowledgeable to hand their will to him, even in an act that was – in essence – a display of male dominance. This woman _had_ given him her control, though nearly without consent. She was proud, yes, but she had bitten down on that pride enough in the past to be able to ignore it when she wanted. She was free-spirited, breaking the rules when it suited her or bending them in search of a higher order. She was naïve, but her powers kept her from being completely so – she had absorbed some of the most filthy, wretched minds; she was becoming wise to the world, but not so quickly that she couldn't be caught and have her preferences shaped.

Was he taking advantage of her inexperience, her youth and her naivety? Quite possibly. He was certainly taking advantage of her inability to control her powers; as long as she couldn't touch, she would come back to him.

It was a very pleasing arrangement.

But it was still no answer to the questions that brewed in his mind. He could find _excuses_ why he wished their relationship to remain consistent, but he couldn't find an _answer_ that suited him. She was desirable, yielding, a forbidden fruit of sorts…but none of this could explain away that he had given into his baser instinct…a thing usually under his strict control. These half-hearted reasons couldn't tell him what had prompted him to throw caution to the four winds and more or less _tell_ her that they would be seeing each other again, regularly. It couldn't explain away the desire to feel her under his hands again; it was eating away at him now, even though it was barely twenty-four hours since they had…

…Hm. Well, even if he could find no reason for his actions and deliberations, why not indulge them as long as she was willing? Remembering that she had told him that she would be there for him as long as he wanted her did nothing to quell his unreasonable desire, either.

With a reluctant pause, he retrieved his helmet from his desk and strode out of the study, full of purpose.

* * *

The Institute was almost in her sight when she realized she wasn't alone.

There was no sound save for the chirping of the crickets in the grass and the wind pulling through the trees softly and rustling the leaves, making the branches creak and groan. Aside from the occasional leaf fluttering to the ground, everything was still – even Rogue as she slowed to a halt, feeling a pair of eyes on her. She looked around, standing in the middle of the rocky little strip on the side of the road, listening and watching. Waiting.

"Hello?"

The wind picked up, whistling in the branches of the trees and making the leaves shuffle. Rogue frowned at herself, but began walking again, slowly and tentatively. She was certain that there was someone…

There was a crunch behind her. She spun around, fists clenched and ready to spring.

"Now, now, my dear…there's no need to be hostile."

Rogue sighed with relief and relaxed, then smiled slightly at herself when she realized that usually she would have pulled off her gloves by now and launched at his face. "Ah'm sorry, suh," she said. She relaxed her position, but kept her head up and her eyes directly on his.

Magneto closed the space between them and Rogue felt all the bruises he'd left her with begin to tingle – she'd forgotten entirely about them after dressing this morning, until now. She shivered outright as he twisted a strand of her hair in his fingers and tugged at it lightly. "I want you to meet me tomorrow night," he told her in a low voice. "I expect to find you at front of the hotel we visited last night, at nine o'clock."

She nodded. "Tomorrow at nine," she repeated. "Ah'll be there, suh."

He released her and gently trailed a finger down her jaw. Her eyes fluttered closed; he couldn't help but smile at the sight. "Good."

His hand left her skin – when she opened her eyes again, he was gone as suddenly as he'd appeared. She shivered, touching her jaw lightly where his hand had just been. Her heart was pounding incessantly against her ribs, making it hard to catch a good breath of air. The bruises on her throat and shoulders still tingled.

Somewhat reluctantly, she turned back to the Institute. Guilt surged in her, high and fast, at the sight of the immaculate white structure, but she bit down on that feeling. She either kept a secret or she destroyed all she loved, because she knew for a fact that there was no third option – there was no 'stopping', at least not on her part. _There_ was one thing she still had no control over…

But she could take solace in the fact that it wasn't something that mattered, ultimately…

* * *

A/N: REVIEW TIME!

selestria: 'Bizzare yet oddly compelling' is pretty much what I'm going for here – so thank you! Whee! Onwards with the disturbing-ness!

musagirl15: Personally I wouldn't have called the fic 'cute', but…meh. It'll get better, though – promise!

RogueBHS: Oh, man, I would love to write in a reaction from Pietro like that. "See this look on my face? Right here? This look means you have _broken my mind_!" Tee hee! You probably guessed it was Remy who'd stood her up, but as I mentioned in this chapter he wasn't the only bad guy when their relationship fell through. You're welcome for the story, and thanks for the review! (By the way, what does the 'BHS' stand for in your moniker? Just curious – you don't have to say.)

ishandahalf: The age difference is hugely creepy, isn't it? But I've been fixated on this pairing since I was introduced to the Age of Apocalypse series. Rogue gets paired up with all the weird guys – if not Gambit of the tormented past, then Magneto of the bipolar disorder or Juggernaut of the homicidal tendencies (see Ultimate X-Men Annual #1 – it's in there!). Ah, the poor girl. She'll never get a stable guy, will she?


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own 'em.

A/N: So…whoop. Who's still with me here? Sorry it took so long. I've had it uploaded for about a week now but...well, I'm both forgetful and lazy. Don't hurt me!If you're reading this and haven't yet abandoned me, find enclosed – as per your expectations – mounting tension, further disturbing smut, a plea from Remy and a sectional sorting-out of emotions. Not necessarily in that order, though.

Love it or shove it.

* * *

**Inappropriate Conduct**

Chapter Three

* * *

By eight o'clock, she was mounting the steps of her destination.

She had one foot in the lobby of the lavish hotel when a solid hand closed over her shoulder – a silver shockwave from her fading bruises shot through her; a quick but effective reminder of her vulnerability. She turned her head to acknowledge the man behind her with darkening eyes, but neither paused as they walked, in unison, into the brightly-lit reception room. The two reached the desk – he'd already made reservations. Money and keys exchanged hands; she was steered towards the elevator by the strong hand that still had a firm hold of her marked shoulder.

By twenty-past eight, he had her effectively trapped.

She had been pushed against the wall of the hotel suite, her lips crushed under his and her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. He had one hand on her thigh, holding her close to him. The other hand was pulling the pin out of her hair – she'd worn it up, knowing he would want to take it down. She kept her own two hands on his chest, somewhat distancing the two of them. Even when he threw aside her hairpin, captured the back of her neck with his now free hand and pulled her deeper into their kiss, there was still the barrier of her arms and hands between them.

He bit at her bottom lip, just harshly enough to be pleasurable. His hand tightened convulsively on her thigh. He felt like a ravenous beast – it felt as though it was so long ago since he had last touched her. His self-control was already waning. She, however, was in a similar state – the small, pale hands on his chest were gripping at his shirt; her thighs were squeezing him tightly, drawing him closer to her; her lithe body was tense in his embrace, taut like a spring. Still, her lips were undemanding – she acknowledged his control.

He raked his clenched hand over her thigh. She moaned into his mouth, pressing herself off of the wall and against him. Her love of harsh pleasure astounded him to no end – he could touch her as sensually and sweetly as he ever had touched a woman, but she would only respond to the roughest of his embraces. However, he found that this was one of the things he enjoyed most about her – perhaps this was the sadistic side of him coming through, the side that many of his old acquaintances had often warned him about? Perhaps he was merely empathic in this sense?

Rogue sighed as he relented his hold on the back of her neck. His hand now sought out the buttons of the white shirt she wore. She began to loosen his tie, pulling at the knot with inexperience. She managed to pull it away, though, but in the same amount of time Magneto had her shirt unbuttoned entirely. Both of his hands caught the material at her shoulders and roughly pulled it away from her. He helped her yank his tie away before firmly grasping her waist with both hands. She was so slight that his fingers almost met in like a belt around her small middle.

His mouth left hers; he turned his attention to the fast-fading purple blemishes on her pale skin…the marks he'd left on her. He bit her again, lighter than before, knowing that the sensitized bruises would make up for his lack of pressure. Certainly enough, she dropped her head back until it thudded against the wall he held her to.

She was getting dizzy again. She was coloring fast. Her limbs were shaking. The sweet ache of desire was curling tightly in her stomach. Higher brain processing was lost – it was all she could do to remember to breathe. Impatience and irrationality had a firm hold on her now…all she wanted was to feel him again, as they had been two nights ago…

Magneto smoothed his hands over her waist, over the comparatively coarse material of her skirt. He didn't know that – like her upswept hair – she'd worn it for him, knowing that he would appreciate the gesture of femininity. And appreciate it he did, although his lust-addled brain was drowning out the feminine connotations of the garment and merely focusing on it in the same sense that a teenage boy would. He slid his hands over her thighs, then trailed upwards, under the skirt, to her hips. The material bunched above his hands, finally gathering in a crumpled mass about her waist. He pulled away from the bruised skin of throat and gave her a level, although darkened, stare. "No undergarments," he observed aloud, though quietly. "How very wanton."

She wasn't looking at him, with her head still thrown back, but the rush of color to her cheeks indicated that she'd heard him. "Ya don't like it, suh?" she asked after a pause.

"I never said _that_, my dear."

One of his hands left her hips – over the sounds of their heavy breathing, Rogue could hear his zipper. An instant later and he had positioned himself at her wet core. He clutched her hips again and paused, watching her; she grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, biting her swollen bottom lip in anticipation. The gesture was as much as he needed. With one, swift movement, he sheathed himself inside of her.

Rogue's head lolled forward, dropping onto his shoulder. She was quickly coming to love this part – the initial contact. The first, uncomfortable stretching – a discomfort that sharpened her senses – just before the mind-bending pleasure took over all coherent thought. She moaned quietly, screwing her eyes up. She involuntarily squeezed him with her inner muscles; a silent plea to hurry.

He needed no further encouragement. He assumed a fast, furious rhythm inside her. One hand left her hips; he grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her head away from his shoulder. He wanted to be able to watch her, to see every reaction she made…

Her back was pressed painfully against the wall, and her head ached where he'd pulled her hair. His hand on her hips was harsh and bruising…but every sensation was paling in comparison to the torturous, slow-burning pleasure he was stoking in her. God, she'd missed this – it had only been two days, and she'd already started missing this. The delirious high of sensation was electrifying…it was invigorating. How had she gone without exploring this phenomenon, even alone?

Already he was beginning to thrust into her with urgency. Just watching her, writhing in pleasure as she was there, was a more powerful catalyst to his lust than any other sight he'd ever beheld. Sweat rolled from her forehead, from her neck, over her collarbone and into the valley of her breasts. Giving license to the ravenous, lusting instinct in him, he bent his head down to those sweat-drops and roughly chased them away with his tongue. The salty tang, coupled with the creamy taste of her flesh, was intoxicating.

She was coming closer, he could feel it. He wasn't far behind her – his harsh breaths became groans, just as her quick pants became whispered screams. Her hands tightened in his shirt; his tightened on her hips. The sweet friction between them was white-hot, pouring over them both.

Her head dropped back; her back arched. Rogue could only feel a blinding, agonizing pleasure as the second orgasm of her life tore her apart. She cried aloud, helpless against the rush of sensation, as Magneto clenched his teeth and pounded into her, following her over the edge with a low groan of release.

* * *

Half an hour later and they were still joined, both still trying to wind down from the rush…both still lightly bathed in sweat. Magneto had more or less fallen back onto a couch, still holding Rogue to him tightly, so he now sat with her straddling his waist. He still held her hips in a rough grip; she still clutched fistfuls of his shirt. The only motion the both of them made was the slowed, rhythmic pattern of their breathing. They had remained there, almost unmoving, for the entire half hour.

It was just after nine o'clock.

Magneto dropped his head forward and rested his forehead against her shoulder. "I only realized…I still haven't extracted punishment for your biting me two nights ago."

She hazily ran the tip of her tongue over her lips. "Ya have a punishment devised, suh?"

He chuckled quietly and raised his head again. "Actually, yes." He loosened her left hand from his shirt and laid a gentle kiss to her fingertips. "You aren't unfamiliar with the phrase 'an eye for an eye', are you? I won't demand _exact_ uniformity, but…" With that, he wrenched her hand towards him, exposing her forearm. He bit into the soft flesh there savagely, breaking the skin.

Rogue hissed; tears stung her eyes. She wouldn't scream or whimper, though. Not even as he applied more pressure to the wound, attempting to elicit such a response – she was still too proud, too guilty. She closed her eyes, letting the sharp pain sink in. She deserved this…this pain, she reasoned with herself, was a penance, but she didn't believe that she required punishment for biting him – he didn't believe so either. She believed that she deserved it, though…for what she was _doing_…

Magneto finally released her, not seeming very pleased at all with her response. He almost looked insulted; he was doing his best to keep his face stoic, but his steely eyes were conveying his thoughts clearly. Rogue knew immediately what was wrong – she shrugged off all his gentle touches in favor of bruising ones; that was one of the most harsh things he'd done to her and she'd barely given a response. She almost laughed – it appeared his sense of masculine pride hadn't suffered under his logic, as it seemed to do in most intelligent men.

He noticed her smile as her eyes danced with amusement at his expense; in retaliation, he pinched her side. "What is that look for, my dear?" he demanded, still attempting to conceal his irritation.

She told him, bluntly, as she discreetly tried to dab at the small beads of blood the formed around the wound on her forearm. "It's just…Ah wouldn't have thought it of ya, suh."

Magneto nodded, regarding her quizzically. "You think such a thing as masculine pride is beneath me? Or that I am not at all masculine, perhaps?"

"Ya just bein' sarcastic now."

He conceded, internally, but pinched her sharply again. "Don't be impertinent," he ordered. "It isn't becoming of you."

Rogue nodded, acknowledging her transgression. "An' Ah forgot ta address ya correctly, suh."

"So you did," he noted, musing on it. "Honesty is an admirable trait, my dear. Nonetheless…" He pinched her once again, more harshly than before, making her jolt in surprise. He smiled lazily at her and dropped his head back onto the soft headrest of the sofa they were perched upon. "I can't let disobedience of any sort go unpunished," he told her in a drawling, almost sarcastic voice.

"Of course not, suh." He couldn't, and he wouldn't – it was more or less a part of their unspoken agreement that she was wary to be correct in her behavior, but still obedient and timid. She paused, then tentatively reached to him and brushed his hair back from his face. He raised his head only enough to give her a quizzical look, and she dropped her eyes. "Sorry. It looked like it was in yoh way, suh." She dropped her hand to rest it on her shoulder.

His quizzical look only seemed to imprint itself deeper into his visage, before fading instantaneously. "That's quite alright, my dear," he told her nonchalantly. He dropped his head back to the headrest, staring up at the ceiling. After a moment's pause, he reached up to the girl and gently ghosted a finger over her lips. In the same motion, he caught the back of her head and guided her to rest herself against his chest. She curled there, tucking her hands into his shirt and under her chin. He kept his hand tangled in her hair…but continued to stare up at the ceiling blankly.

* * *

The sun rose on the next morning hidden behind great, swirling grey clouds.

Rogue rolled out of bed at ten o'clock – of course, it was no later than anyone expected of her on a Saturday morning. That being said, she'd gotten home at three o'clock, sneaking in through her window by climbing the ivy near the waterspout – she craved a few more hours sleep, but didn't want to arouse suspicion, even through such a small and insignificant anomaly. She stretched as she rose off her mattress, rolling her shoulders, before heading for the _en suite_ bathroom. She locked the door behind herself, turned the shower on hot and fast, then carefully began to undress…taking stock of her bruises as she did.

She looked in the mirror at the purplish marks on her chest – they would fade in two or three days, perhaps with a lingering green tinge in their wake. The bruises he'd imprinted on her hips would be around for about five days, granted longer if Magneto held her like that again. She closed her eyes and smiled at herself briefly, shaking her head – '_if_'. He delighted in their sharp caresses, almost as much as she did. There would always be bruises, unless she found a way to tap into a little healing power.

Then she turned her attention to the savage bite-mark on her left forearm.

It was beaded with tiny patches of dried blood around the broken skin, like embroidery on lace – a poetic touch of sorts. The skin around the wound was turning purple, whilst the skin on the inside of the ring of puncture wounds was pale, bordered by the fierce red of the forming scabs. The sight of the thing made her sigh, partly with frustration and partly in reminiscence.

She stuck her arm under the hot water, wincing until the wound adapted to the unnecessary heat. When the angry flare of pain died, she slipped inside the tiled shower and shut the glass door behind herself, quickly twisting her hair up out of the way with an elastic.

Her wounds were fairly far from her mind as she closed her eyes under the downpour of the shower. Wounds would come and go – she received more bruises from the Danger Room as it was. No…her thoughts were on his actions, not the results she'd sustained of them.

He'd been tense from the minute he'd caught hold of her on the hotel steps – not tense with the idea of being caught, like she had been, but tense with need. As soon as they had been shut away in the safety of the hotel room he'd booked for them, he'd fastened onto her like she was life itself. He'd held her to him, one way or another, for the entire night until he'd given her leave. His hold hadn't been desperate…hungry, yes, but not desperate. It was nonetheless strange – it had only been two days since they'd last been together; he'd been acting like a man starved of a woman's company for a _lifetime_.

Not that it wasn't a good thing…just…it wasn't anything she would have expected in _him_.

Tabitha, while she was in the Institute, had said something about that once – you could look at a person as much as you wanted to, you could watch them act and talk, you could study their likes and dislikes…but you'd never know what they were 'like' until you got them in the sack. Rogue cringed slightly as the phrase ran through her mind. While she wasn't a virgin anymore, and Magneto seemed to be making quite an impact on her naivety otherwise, she was still prudish…but, while the euphemism was crude, it _was_ seemingly accurate.

Perhaps she would ask him about it when they met again – he'd already designated a time; two nights from that day, at eight o'clock again. He'd meet her at the restaurant, this time, to take her to a new place.

Trying to avoid a pattern…

Scrubbed clean and refreshed, she slid the glass door back and stepped out, followed by a cloud of steam from the heat of the water. She wrapped herself up in her towel, brushed her teeth perfunctorily and opened the bathroom door, kicking out her pajamas in front of her and in the general direction of the washing basket.

"Well…ain't dis a sight?" quipped a low, somewhat mocking voice.

She was barely one foot out the door – there was hardly any of her to see…still, he found a way to turn it into a line. He probably always would have a line on the ready, no matter where he went or what he did. Rogue paused for a moment, but only a moment. She continued her path out of the steamy bathroom, unpinning her hair as she went; she was only clad in her towel, but modesty be damned. She dropped the pin on Kitty's bureau and went in search of a fresh change of clothes…something that would cover the mark on her arm without rubbing into it too much.

But she didn't say anything to him.

She caught sight of him in the cheval mirror beside the bureau – he was leaning against the French doors that opened onto the patio, standing half inside and half outside, trapping the opened lace curtains with his back. He held a lit cigarette in one hand; his other hand was buried in a trenchcoat pocket, closed around a deck of cards. His unique red-on-black eyes were watching her – somewhat appreciatively, despite himself – as she rifled through her drawers for a good, light sweater.

"Y' ain't gonna say anyt'ing, _cherie_?"

Rogue closed her eyes and sighed. Some things would never change. "Don't call me that, Gambit," she told him, already sounding on-edge.

He gave a short, low bark of a laugh. "Sounds jus' like when Remy first come here, doesn't it? We're back t' square one."

"We're not _anywhere_," she told him tensely.

He took a long drag on the cigarette he held. "We say all dese t'ings back den, too," he observed, his voice dropping significantly in volume. "Y' gettin' tired of repeatin' dis stuff, _cherie_? I know I am."

"Yet ya keep sneakin' back in here…" she trailed off, sounding exasperated.

Remy hissed out a breath, flinging his cigarette away over the edge of the patio. Ororo would have his hide later on for leaving his trash in her pristine garden – she knew that only two of the Institute's residents smoked, and Logan preferred cigars. But at that moment, Remy didn't care about much else beside the woman he was pleading his case to. "We worked out worse, _ma chère_. Y' even forgave me m' past. Not many have done dat." He paused, looking as if he'd only just realized the truth in his own words. "Not many _would_. I know most o' de other X-Men wouldn't…prob'ly not even y' li'l friend Kitty, or de Wolverine, not even wit' his kill-count."

"Kitty would forgive ya if ya kicked her down the stairs," Rogue retorted, rolling her eyes at her best-friend's endearing, undying sense of goodwill. "An' Wolverine never asked for forgiveness…he doesn't expect it. Ah dunno if it even matters if anyone _did_ forgive him, 'cause he won't forgive himself. He doesn't think there's any point in forgiveness – it won't change what he's done." She shot him a look over her shoulder, still being careful enough not to display the bruises on her body to his eyes either front-on or via the mirror. "D'ya forgive yohself, Remy? Does it even _matter_ what Ah think? Does it _change_ anythin'?"

"It matters, Rogue." Remy levered himself off of the patio doors but didn't move further into the room. "Matters a whole lot. I need forgiveness b'fore I can forgive m'self. I gotta know dat I'm worth it." He clenched the hand that had been holding his cigarette moments ago, craving another one instantaneously. "An' I want y' t' t'ink I'm worth it. Doesn't matter 'bout anyone else."

Rogue bit her lips together, furrowing her brow and turning her head away from him. People called her an unfeeling ice-queen – she was, in a lot of ways, but she didn't _want_ to be with the people she cared about and…even though it went against her self-respect, her pride and all good sense, she still cared about Remy. She would for a long time, whether or not she continued to liaise with Magneto…not even if she found someone to take Remy's place in her affections. She grabbed an armload of clothes, hugging them to her front so he wouldn't see the bruises, and stood upright. "Ya _are_ worth forgiveness, Gambit. Everyone's worth that." She started back towards the bathroom.

"Right. Everyone," he snorted, unconvinced. "Like Sabertooth. An' Magneto."

He didn't notice her eyes darting over to him; he was looking away forlornly, stuck in self-pity. Rogue sent a brief prayer of thanks upwards and locked herself in the bathroom. "Anyone who wants ta _reform_ is worth forgiveness, then," she amended, trying to sound sick of the conversation – anything to get him out of there, out of sight. "That sound better?"

"Do I have _your_ forgiveness?" Remy asked, his voice muffled through the door. He was closer, now – he was probably sat on her bed near the bathroom. "Dat's all I need."

"Ya already asked me this – three months ago, Ah think," Rogue rejoined. She pulled the turtleneck sweater over her head. "Ya know Ah don't hold anythin' in yoh past against ya." She laughed slightly, humorlessly. "Ah know a whole lotta people who've done worse."

"Not talkin' 'bout dat," he said. "M' talkin' 'bout what we were sayin'…last night."

Rogue paused, halfway through pulling on her jeans. She snapped out of her stupor and shucked them on all the way. "Remy…last night was a finalizin' moment." She buttoned her fly. "There's nothin' ta forgive 'cause there's nothin' ta patch up anymore." It made her feel hollow to say it, but it had to be said – there was no going back; there was only moving forward.

There was a shuffle and a click – Remy was lighting up another cigarette. "Y' sayin' dat…dat dis is it, _cherie_?"

Rogue unlocked the bathroom door and stepped out. She crouched at the end of her bed, giving him a careful look, before retrieving a pair of boots. "Look…Remy…" She sat on the bed and grabbed a roll of socks from her bedside dresser. "We tried, an' we tried, an' we tried. Sometimes it just doesn't work out how ya want."

Remy nodded, drawing heavily on his cigarette. "Righ'." He looked at the bathroom door now, seemingly fixated with it, and exhaled a long coil of condensed smoke. "Righ'." He took another draw, then turned to her with hardened, flashing eyes – he was angry, with every right, but he often said things he regretted when he was angry…things that often hit home, for her. "So _how_, Rogue? I mean…y' say y' had 'fun', _cherie_, but how?"

She pulled on her boots, haphazardly tying them up. She studied the creases in the shoe leather, trying her best not to let his words get at her…but they did. They always did. "We used a bio-hazard radiation suit," she drawled callously. She got to her feet, feeling cold, hollow, dirty and angry. She stared down at him, her mouth forming a thin line. "Thanks. Thanks a _whole lot_, Gambit…"

He swore under his breath. "I didn't mean dat…"

"Right." She was already at the door. "Thanks anyway." She stepped out into the hallway, slamming the door shut behind her – she realized that she hadn't gotten the opportunity to put on her makeup, but she pushed the thought aside – she could forgo her mask for one day. She marched down the passage, ignoring the sound of the door opening again and his footsteps running to catch up with her. "Lemme be, Gambit. Ah've had enough of this."

"Ain't like y' t' jus' give up, y' know," he returned, sounding both caustic and apologetic in a way that was unique to him. He darted in front of her, but she dodged him and burst through the front doors and into the Institute's grounds. "Rogue…we been t'rough worse! We can talk dis out. Gimme another chance."

"Ah'm done talkin'. Ah'm through givin' ya chances." She froze abruptly in her place, with him three steps behind her and both of them in the middle of Ororo's marvelous, dew-beaded rose garden. "Ah'm through gettin' angry with ya! Ah don't want this insecurity…this constant self-pity an' anger. Ah'm sick of all yoh pettiness an'…an' hang-ups! Ah don't wanna feel helpless when Ah look at the man Ah care about most in the world – Ah wanna feel happy…Ah wanna be happy, _just for a while_, Gambit! Ah'm gettin' _real_ tired of yoh games…"

"Dis ain't no game, Rogue," Remy returned, quietly.

"Oh, it is. It was never serious ta _you_! Nothin's ever so important that it can't be forgotten whenever it's convenient for ya."

"Dat ain't true! I never, not once, forget 'bout y'."

"Yeah, Ah'm sure Ah was the one on yoh mind when ya were out lookin' foh company three nights ago! Ah'm sure mah feelin's, mah reaction _really_ came into yoh thoughts while ya prowled that nightclub…"

"What 'bout _you_, Rogue? Was I on y' mind when some son of a bitch…"

"Yes, ya _were_!" She spun around to face him finally, belatedly realizing that she was crying. She froze in place. All the anger drained from her immediately – she felt too vulnerable, too open like this, but she wasn't easily distracted. "Ah _told_ him why Ah was there…who Ah was waitin' for. Ah knew he couldn't help me, but he could help keep me outta mah own head…even for a li'l while," she continued miserably, angrily. "Until we left that restaurant, Ah couldn't get over how…_furious_ Ah was…how hurt Ah was. But if ya had shown up while Ah was waitin' foh that cab, Ah would've never have gone with him! Not even though…he can…" She closed her eyes; she gingerly touched her own cheek, remembering the thrill of touch…the warmth. "Ah'm just so _sick_ of being unwanted…" she whispered miserably, all the fight gone out of her. "_So sick_ of bein' helpless, Remy…"

"Y' _not_ unwanted, _cherie_," Remy told her insistently. He was edging closer to her. All of the anger in his voice was gone too. "Y' not helpless, either…y' not cut out t' be helpless, _chère_." He reached out to her. "I'm here, Rogue."

Rogue wrapped her arms about herself limply and looked away from him. "No, ya aren't." She turned and started walking away, towards the gates of the Institute. "Ya three night's too late; Ah've already left '_here_', wherever it is yoh still waitin' for me…an' ya wouldn't bother puttin' up the chase for me anymore…not now." She walked away, leaving him standing in the middle of the glorious rose garden. This time he didn't follow her – he was still trying to wrap his mind around what she was saying, to no avail. She tried not to feel disappointed, but just ended up feeling more alone than ever.

* * *

Magneto frowned at himself. He tried, once again, to read the spreadsheets in front of him. For the fifth time. Once again, the numbers, measurements and significant details would only dance about his eyes like they had a life of their own, blurring and merging in his head into utter nonsense. He was too distracted to see them. His head was reeling, caught up in memories that were barely twelve hours old. He tried _again_ to read the spreadsheets, glaring at them as if they were at fault. He could hardly discern the first few lines.

"Lord Magneto…are you feeling well?" asked one of the Acolytes behind him…Cortez, was it? He didn't care, to be honest, who it was – he was an irritating presence, no matter _what_ his name was.

"I'm well enough," he shot back, trying and failing to hold down his anger. The other man shifted, slightly nervous. Magneto closed his eyes, head bent towards the numerous papers spread out before him. Damnable spreadsheets. "Thank you, Cortez. That will be all."

The other man saluted behind him and turn to take his leave. Once the metal door clanged shut behind him, shutting out the rest of the compound from sight, Magneto sank into one of the nearby chairs, feeling all at once old and moronic…two of his least favorite feelings.

This was getting absolutely ridiculous…

That girl…that slight, whisper of a girl…it was all her fault. He had known this arrangement was a bad idea, but – like a willful child – he had thrown off logic to pursue what he wanted, selfishly and thoughtlessly. Now, in a rather ironic fashion, he was suffering the retribution of his recently neglected mind, plagued by thoughts of their time together. Not just thoughts…careful analysis, too. Careful analysis of his actions towards her – the gestures that could be damaging to their arrangement. He acknowledged _now_, far too late, that he had been far more appreciative than was appropriate of the few gestures she allowed herself with him – a timid caress here or there. He permitted himself that, though. What ate at him now was that he'd been entirely unguarded in his appreciation of those gestures.

_Entirely _unguarded.

He'd held her gently to his chest for at least half an hour, before his need to touch her, to explore her had risen again. Afterwards, lying back on the bed with her sprawled next to him, he'd pulled her to his side and held her loosely. He'd _reluctantly_ conceded to let her return home. He felt what could only be described as proud possessiveness when he noted the bruises on her hips; he felt all the more self-satisfied when she sat up to examine them curiously herself, looking as naïve and intriguing as she had three nights ago, during their first evening together, marveling that she could touch him.

He'd acknowledged, only to himself, that he could not imagine tiring of her. He realized that if she had given over control _entirely_ to him – to allow him to dictate the boundaries and limitations of their arrangement, to decide the date of its termination – then she had more or less entered into an unbreakable contract; he wasn't going to end their liaison. Not in any foreseeable future.

This…this was becoming intolerable. Magneto stared blankly at the spreadsheets, not even seeing the things. He was rapidly losing control of himself – control being one of the things he prized more than anything else – and he had no one else to blame but himself. He was losing control to lust, a thing he abhorred. He sank his head into his hands, eyes closing and his jaw set tensely. Something was happening – something more than just a convenient relationship based in mutual desire, something beyond power and control. Something…something that he couldn't identify rightly. Something that made the information in front of him rapidly pale into insignificance.

What _was_ it, though?

* * *

A/N: And on that sour note, it's REVIEW TIME!

ishandahalf: It's smacking my inner Romy-lover around a bit too, don't worry. Things may pan out for them in the end…they've faced worse, after all (in the comics, naturally). But I'm not sure yet. It all depends on how the main issue works itself out. Well, in any case, I hope you enjoyed this little splash of angsty Romy fun. Thanks for the review!

RogueBHS: A hawk, eh? Rather ironic indeed. Thank you for feeding my curiosity! I'm glad to see that someone thinks I'm writing the characters correctly, given the um…situation. I have to tell you, though, in regards to the Savage Lands _battle royale_ savie-dealie, I was quite pissed that the two of them decided it would be better not to pursue their attraction – damn it, I _love_ this pairing. Oh, and thank you for putting this story in your favorites! Everyone appreciates appreciation:)

coldqueen: Original-cartoon Magneto _was_ much sexier, wasn't he? Perhaps it was the longer hair and the lack of apparent old age. I'm inclined to say that this one has a better voice, though…and less clichéd lines. Hoorah for improved dialogue since the 1990's :) Thanks for the review!

BLISSFULLY-JADED73: The creepiness is to my story what chocolate topping is to ice cream – it's what makes it super delicious. :) I hope that this chapter has helped soften the Gambit that I had written; that was half the idea of their conversation here, anyway. That they're both guilty of the same thing kind of takes the edge off of him. Thanks for the review!

Secret Agent Smut Girl: There are precious few people who enjoy this pairing; I started out thinking I'd get nothing but a series of reviews telling me how creepy this fic is! Thank you for the review and feedback.

Iseult of the Snows: Glad to see I'm piquing your interest in this pairing, even if only marginally. If I can convert just one person to the Dark Side, I consider it a productive week. Thanks for the review!

Elle Mooreside: You know, your review was the first time someone has openly credited this fic for it's slight S&M tones – thank you! As requested, here is the update coupled with a sincere promise ofmore to come. Disturbing smut…ahoy!


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: As if you're in need of reminding…I don't own 'em.

A/N: I've had this one brewing in the My Documents folder since I uploaded chapter two (about a month and two weeks ago, now), for those who care to know. I like to post chapters at a steady pace (when I have access to the Internet, anyway…), but my writing fits come in bursts that can't be contained…even when I should've been studying for my lousy Politics exam…_damnable university_, always clashing with my streaks of creativity!

Ahem…anyway, tonight – for your reading enjoyment – I've got some more smut, a revelation from Rogue, another from Magneto, another between the two of them and…drum roll someone realizes _what the hell is going on! _And just to get you guessing (though it's still fairly obvious) it's _not_ Kitty or Remy! Whee!

Love it or shove it!

* * *

**Inappropriate Conduct**

Chapter Four

* * *

Rogue twisted a strand of hair around her finger; a habit from years gone by that she'd never thought to correct.

She was sat in a tree, reclined in a strong bough with the leaves of other branches haphazardly tangling in her hair. A book was hanging limply from her left hand as she dangled her arms carelessly. Her eyes were closed serenely. One boot-shod foot rested on the tree branch, bending her leg at the knee; the other leg swung beneath her as easily as a loose twig would sway in the wind. The birds above her flittered to and fro quickly, in sharp contrast to her relaxed, lazy posture. A gentle breeze was gently passing through the boughs and over her, pulling her shirt this way and that, making her book flutter and drag in the resistance, knotting her hair and smoothing it away all at the same time, though she didn't seem to care one way or another.

The only thing that marred the peaceful scene she made was the slight crease in her brow. Anyone passing by that oak tree would just think she was sleeping, perhaps having a slight nightmare, but in reality she was quite awake and deep in thought.

In front of her, the sun was setting. She registered the fading light against her eyelids and sighed. It was almost seven o'clock, then. If she intended to walk to the restaurant, and be there on time, she had to start for the place _now_.

…Which was a pity, because she'd just gotten comfortable in that tree.

She opened her eyes reluctantly and slid her propped-up leg over the edge of the branch she was perched on. She dropped to the ground, landing with a 'huff', and tucked her book under her arm.

The high heels of her dress boots clicked against the pavement of the walkway, managing to sound both cold and lonely. Just like she felt. Rogue sighed again and shook her head at herself, feeling angry with herself. She was relating to her _shoes_, now – what next? Maybe her breakfast would start looking particularly morose and distant tomorrow; maybe the Danger Room would strike close to home, looking as aloof and determined as she'd seen herself in the mirror this morning? Who knew where she'd start drawing comparisons next?

Still…it would have been nice to not be in such a singular position; it would have been nice to have someone, or even just some_thing_, to relate to. Even when she felt alone in her mutant powers, she could always remind herself that there were others, like the kid who had basically radiated_ death_, killing everyone around him in his small hometown until he'd put a bullet in his own head, leaving behind only a cold corpse and a long suicide note detailing his demise.

Ah, evolution…it seemed that in the magnificent and eternal court of the Divine Creator, mutants were designated to be His jesters.

Evolution was hardly her problem for the meantime, though; her powers were becoming of secondary significance now, diminishing in the light of a more worrying dilemma. This new problem was evident in the fading bruises on her body. Yes…the _fading _bruises. Normally – under any other circumstance – she would have been glad to see the things melt off of her skin, but bruises acquired in the Danger Room were not the same as the ones she earned from Magneto. She wanted them to stay – she wanted to be bruised.

She felt sick with herself for thinking like that – her prudish nature was at work against her again – but it wasn't that she wanted to be 'marked' by him or possessed like that with physical trophies…well, that wasn't entirely the case; she enjoyed his masculine dominance of her, somewhat ashamedly, but this was different. It wasn't that she couldn't pull herself out of the thought of his harsh caresses, though sometimes she slipped into her memories and couldn't see the world around her for them; it wasn't that she wanted reminders of the nights they had spent together so badly that she didn't want to see the bruises fade, though she did enjoy those reminders. It was merely that the bruises were more or less the signatures of their unspoken contract. That these bruises were fading, though only five nights old, was somewhat finalizing.

And worrying.

Magneto hadn't been the only one to recognize his uncharacteristic tenderness when he'd cradled her that last time, holding her in the wake of their slaked lust. Rogue couldn't stop the frown that crossed her forehead when she thought back to the strong but loose hold of his arm around her shoulders, the gentle embrace of his hand that had weaved into her hair and carefully held her to his chest.

It hadn't been a simple touch – there was no such thing, especially not in Rogue's mindset. There was something in every embrace; a need for something. Each touch was an indication of attraction, a manipulation, a sign of the affectionate bond between kindred. Rogue's touch had one meaning alone – power. She would either absorb it or she would submit herself, meekly, to gain it, but only to one with the means to give that power to her.

Magneto's touch was worse than a play for power or a manipulation, though. It was a violation of their agreement.

No spoken rules had been set, but it had been fairly obvious that neither of them had been drawn to that hotel room the first night by their heartstrings – their relationship was _supposed_ to be based in a quiet acknowledgement of lust, not…anything more. She had shrugged off his sweeter touches because of that. Why encourage something that neither of them could handle? His rough, hardened touch had excited her for the exact same reason; those embraces personified the _tone_ of their relationship – the urgency, the fire, the lust and the dominance of will. There was no room for tenderness and care. There couldn't be any room for it…it would be wrong for the both of them.

But _why was he doing this_?

She knew, just as she knew what he wanted in a woman, that he was well aware of the disastrous turn affectionate gestures could have – he had been in love once, after all, and he had suffered for it in a way he could have never anticipated. Yet already, so soon into their bargain, his demeanor would soften once the edge was taken off of his lust. He would soothe the bruises he gave her; he would caress her as if to calm her, rather than to arouse her when they lay side by side; he was careful to note her reactions to what he did to her, always vigilant in case he were to bite or mark her too harshly unless that was his intention.

The restaurant came into view – the jagged lines of the buildings of the metropolitan area, which effectively obscured the horizon, had hidden the sun. There would be about fifteen minutes before eight. He would be there in ten.

She clutched her book tightly to her chest and looked around the restaurant car park, waiting impatiently.

His affectionate touches made her ridiculously uncomfortable, though when she was with him she couldn't find room in her mind to give it a second though. It wasn't that she was disturbed by him for doing it, nor that she was ungrateful for the hope he gave her that perhaps she _wasn't_ entirely unsuitable to be cared for in_ that _manner…it was more to do with her need for power. She had begun to acknowledge that power and physical contact had years ago connected in her mind – it would take a little time and a lot of therapy before she could separate the two; it would be a long while before touch could be an affectionate, caring and even selfless gesture when it involved intimacy…especially intimacy of _that_ sort.

Replacing his harsh touches with affection displaced her – it left her feeling confused and unsure of what their arrangement was supposed to mean if he wasn't seeking ascendancy over her. Not to mention that it was eating away at the one trump card she held in this entire situation. As long as she was uneasy she couldn't revel in or properly exercise her power over the situation…and without power, in this case or in any other, what else did she have?

Did he know she felt like this? Did he know what power meant to her?

Why was he _doing_ this?

Rogue frowned at herself, finding that there were tears beading in her eyes. She swiped them away and stared ahead of herself resolutely, composing herself.

She knew she wouldn't find any answers in her own mind; she couldn't ask him for an explanation, either – it was a violation the contract, and even if he would disregard it, she wouldn't; she'd already broken more rules than even she was comfortable with. There was nothing more that she could do, she resolved. She would just ignore the problem and perhaps, unlike all her other problems, ignoring this one would make it go away.

* * *

Rogue had managed to escape to the bed this time before being apprehended. She had pushed the quilt away, not taking time to register any other feature of the lavish hotel suite other than the satin bed linen. She slid the comforter over the end of the bed, then threw herself back over the white sheets with a silly smile on her face. She _loved_ the feel of satin – especially after so many years of encasing herself tightly and securely in leather, itchy wool and that synthetic, armor-like material that made up her team uniform. She kicked off her high heels, rolling over onto her stomach and rubbing her face over the sheets like a cat. She'd forgone makeup again – he preferred her this way.

And there was no room to defy him under these circumstances.

Magneto was still standing by the door, watching her with a vaguely amused expression on his face. He approached her slowly, smiling all the more as she _hummed_ at the sensations she felt from the fabric she lay sprawled upon. She opened her eyes slightly, just enough to see him approaching, and smiled that faint smile of hers, flushing with embarrassment. He brought one knee up to rest on the edge of the bed, leaning over her and placing his hands either side of her shoulders in the rumpled bedspread.

"Are you quite done, my dear?" he asked.

Rogue's smile widened fractionally and closed her eyes again. "Sorry, suh."

"No need to apologize. This is most entertaining to watch." He allowed himself a low, amused laugh before resting all his weight on his right arm to trail down her sloping back with his left hand. The hand trailed to grasp her hip tightly, which he began to lift upwards. He maneuvered his leg to prop her knees up underneath her so that she was effectively kneeling on the bed, though still with her face buried in the sheets.

His hand left her hip and tucked underneath the hem of her skirt. With one smooth motion the material was riding high on her waist, leaving a teasing line of flesh exposed from the scant covering of her white, opaque underwear to the comparatively darker lace tops of her thigh-stockings. Turning his eyes away from the sight, he looked to her face for her reaction as his hand reached for the back of her thigh, squeezing her pliable flesh slowly and harshly. He was far from disappointed with her response; she arched her back, squeezing her eyes shut. A slight smile flickered across her face.

He had no idea why she smiled then and it didn't trouble him. Her reason was simple enough, though – she was relieved. She could already _feel_ the roughened edge of him emerging, like a sinister, black-hearted creature rising to shroud its prey in darkness. Any compassionate, reasoning instinct in him was already dying away, smothered under his fiery ardor.

She rolled her head to one side as he leaned over her body, pulling aside the collar of her shirt carelessly and biting into the skin between her throat and her shoulder. Her stomach clenched against the sharp pain, but her body quaked at the underlying sensuality of the act. She could feel him smile slightly against her neck; she shivered under the near-predatory gesture. _This_ was what she wanted – the rush that was reminiscent of fear but full with lust.

The still-present hand on her thigh tightened as he shifted above her to begin unbuttoning her shirt. She began biting her lip in anticipation as he threw the thing away from her. His free hand moved to her back again, finding her bra clasp this time – within seconds the opaque thing was thrown aside, joining her shirt on the floor of the hotel suite. His left hand abandoned her thigh in favor of joining his right in the exploration of her uncovered but hidden front.

His hands were calloused and hard against her; to him, she was softer than the sheets she laid upon. He watched her blushing face as he slowly trailed upwards from her hips, lingering in the dips and slopes of her toned stomach, finally brushing the undersides of her breasts. She arched her back, leaning into his touch, but she kept her breathy sighs and quiet moans bitten back under her clenched teeth. He realized this and it irritated him, though couldn't place why. Confused and somewhat angry, he leaned over her and bit down harshly on her earlobe as he moved his hands from under her.

Rogue gasped, both at the harsh bite and the sudden loss of contact. She was faintly aware that he was moving away from her, but as she turned to see what he did a heavy pressure on her shoulder held her in place. She dropped her head back onto the sheets obediently.

Magneto was both slightly irritated in her compliance and glad of it at the same time, but he disregarded his contradictory thoughts. He kept her weighed down with one hand, reaching to the waistband of her underwear with his free hand. He snaked his fingers through the thin elastic and ripped the opaque material away from her. She gasped; he had to wonder if her reaction was due to the inevitable sting of his actions, or the concept of being more or less uncovered and at his mercy. Either answer was equally satisfying, making the low-burning coil of anger in him begin to meld with his lust.

The weight of his hand lifted from her shoulder; he moved further around her on the bedspread. He stopped, kneeling behind her. And he waited.

Rogue raised her head up slightly, trying to look at him. As she rustled the satin sheets, there was the distinct sound of a zipper being drawn. She raised herself up on her forearms. "Suh?" she said uncertainly. She was somewhat surprised at how much of a seductress she sounded, her voice so husky and low.

His calloused hands found her hips and dug in tightly. She moaned and arched her back as the foreign hardness of his erection pressed against her wet core. He seemed to pause there; she could feel his steely eyes, clouded with lust, rake over her. She felt deliciously sinful – an object of desire, if only for now…if only with him. His hands tightened spasmodically on her hips and the heat of him was gone for an instant before he entered her forcefully, pushing her forward over the bed as he went.

They groaned in unison, neither seeing the other close their eyes in the bliss and partial relief of the initial contact. When he opened his eyes again, she was grasping fistfuls of the sheets. Her head was bowed and her hair was falling in her face in wave abundance. He absently released one hand from her hip to trace the concave dip of her backbone, making her shiver as he silently wished he could see her face. He could only imagine her biting into her bottom lip, eyelids fluttering closed over her darkened green eyes and her face flushed…

Unbidden, his head dropped forward and his hissed as though scalded as she unconsciously tightened around him, squeezing him with her slick inner muscles. His hand found her hip again and he assumed a restrained pace with her, the tightness of his grip serving as the only indication of his raging need.

She moaned breathily, leaning into his harsh grasp as he bore into her in such a way that she couldn't distinguish if he was causing her pain or pleasure. She was aware of tears forming in the corners of her eyes. She was aware of the rough fingers holding her, making her bruises of their previous encounter tingle in a aching but delicious way. She was also aware of _him _– being forced into like this…his cock was almost too much to take. She could feel him behind her, somewhat looming over her like a dark, ominous presence.

He clenched his hands around her involuntarily. His movements were already picking up speed. Beneath him, she was beginning to moan deeply, doing nothing to help his self-control. The trembling of her hot center, the quaking of her thighs…he was already beginning to loose his hold on coherent thought. Anger surged in him. Well, he was going to lose control of the situation soon…but not before she did.

One hand released her hip. Shaking uncontrollably, he sought out her tiny button of nerves and did as he had during their first night together; he pinched her, hard.

The reward of his actions was immediate; she flung her head back and screamed in near-orgasmic agony. He held her that way until her voice gave out for lack of air, then he released her. She whimpered breathlessly at the loss of contact and, perhaps unconsciously, pressed back towards him, seeking more. He couldn't help but smile. "Again, my dear?"

Her answer wasn't immediate; she was still trying to recover her voice. "Please…oh, _Gawd_," she gasped and tensed as he began to gently caress the little nub. "Please…suh…"

"As you wish."

He pinched her again, and was rewarded with another long, pleasured scream. He twisted the bundle of nerve endings between his finger and thumb, making her body shake all over. All the while he drove himself into her, trying to keep his mind on her reactions rather than the sensations he was receiving from her. But it was no use – her screams both chilled and enflamed him at the same time; the violent quaking of her body was driving him to the brink of insanity. She had become unbearably wet at his actions, making each thrust into her ecstasy.

Rogue writhed, biting down hard on her bottom lip, as she felt the end rise. She slammed her eyes closed, barely conscious of the soothing tears trickling down her superheated cheeks. It was too soon…she had to distract herself. Her right hand clutched into the bedspread, but her left abandoned it and somewhat tentatively sought out the place they were joined. She gently traced her opening, caressing the shaft of his cock as he plunged in and out of her, wantonly reveling in the feel of it. Behind her, she heard a faint, groaned "good _God_" as Magneto tightened his hold on her hip and quickened his pace.

Every muscle in his body was tensed. Her explorative touch…he was almost done in. Her gentle touch didn't falter, even as her breathing quickened and she began moaning with the rhythm of their bodies. She was close. By God, the way she was tightening around him was making him delirious…

She arched up, her head thrown back. The mounting white-hot sensation in her was beginning to spill over. She brought back her left hand to clench the sheets with her right, her body becoming rigid with the impending hit. It took her almost by surprise – she bit down on her bottom lip as a low groan erupted into a long wail. Her climax hit like a lightening bolt, shaking her violently until her forearms gave through and she slumped against the bed, exhausted. With one final thrust, Magneto followed her over the edge. His hips bucked into hers and he groaned low as he gave her all he had, his fingers digging into her skin roughly before abruptly, convulsively relaxing.

They remained frozen in place for a long moment, both merely gasping with the aftershock. After what could have been merely a long stretch of seconds or a long stretch of minutes, Magneto began to bear down on Rogue, still joined to her, so that she lay out properly over the bed with him propped on his elbows above her. He moved from her, coming to lay on his back beside her, immediately missing her warmth but still too absorbed in lingering sensation to care all that much. "Good God," he muttered again.

With her face turned away and hidden beneath her hair, Rogue gave a slight smile at his words. "Absolutely, suh," she returned, breathless. Her smile widened as he allowed himself a low chuckle and she turned around, onto her back. She stared up at the ceiling, just as he did. She missed the contact between them just as much as he did – she found herself feeling somewhat empty, even lonely, but chose to ignore the confusing emotions. She craned her neck around absently and looked back at the clock on the side table.

It was nine thirty.

Magneto watched her from the corner of his eye as she turned back to stare up at the ceiling. Her breathing was evening out and the glaze of lust was wearing away from her eyes; he'd have to rectify that, but he could barely move himself. His limbs were heavy with fatigue, though he wouldn't have it any other way. The girl sighed beside him, closing her eyes. She was relaxed and fairly much in the same state as he was – heavy-limbed and exhausted. Was it his imagination or was there a slight smile on her lips? A smile of satisfaction, perhaps? Absently, without thinking, he shifted towards her and gently touched that curving mouth. The smile died, replaced for the briefest instant with a frown, but when she opened her eyes and moved to look at him her expression was blank.

She blinked at him. Curiosity crept into her eyes. "Suh?"

He didn't want her to be _blank_ with him; it was almost as if she were insulting him. Was he being _that_ tyrannical she couldn't wholly relax…even now? Did she feel she had something to hide from him – was distancing herself a mechanism she used to keep their relationship from being entirely _real_, and therefore less guilt-provoking? Was she so very guarded that she wouldn't allow herself _any_ happiness?

He didn't realize, as he ran through these concepts in his head, that they were the very same that he himself could be accused of in other circumstances.

Rogue brought him out of himself fairly easily. "Did Ah do somethin'?" she asked quietly, uncertainty mingling with her curious expression. She had watched his oddly clouded eyes turn analytical, if not a little cold, as she'd addressed him. He was turning something over in his head, obviously – it bothered her to have no idea what it was. "Suh? Are ya mad at me?"

The analytical expression faded away from him. "My dear…" He frowned, though not at her. "Rogue."

She suppressed another frown at the sound of her alias. He rarely used it. In fact, he'd only addressed her as 'Rogue' once before – that first night, in the hotel…he'd been looming over her, holding her more or less at his mercy and demanding she tell him, explicitly, what it was that she wanted of him. Her frown faded away entirely and she shivered, unable to help the warm sensation that washed over her as she remembered the occasion.

Magneto watched her curiously as her eyes glazed over with lust, but let the reaction slide from notice – he had a more insistent thought in his mind now. A question; one of trust…one that would determine just how guarded she was with him. "Rogue…" he said again, slowly. "What is your real name?"

The surprise on her face was all-encompassing, drowning out the hint of rising desire in her in an instant. She looked somewhat scared and decidedly uncomfortable. Her lips parted – she made as if to speak – but no sound came out. Fear and confusion was settling on her now. He was beginning to regret his curiosity, but his pride pricked that he would feel remorse – the hell he wouldn't have an answer! He made as if to imperiously command the information from her, realizing as he did the idiocy in the idea, but she turned her head away to stare up at the ceiling once again, her face amazingly, quickly and immovably blank.

"Anna-Marie…Darkholme," she said levelly. "Or Adler…or somethin' else entirely. Ah'm not sure what mah last name is, but mah given name is Anna-Marie."

He frowned slightly, though he wasn't sure why. The name was as much suited to her as anything else – he hadn't been _expecting_ her to be labeled with any other name. Perhaps it even suited her…the hyphenated, sweet and undeniably southern name probably _would_ sit well on her if she ever decided to use it regularly; it seemed to imply a softer center to the hardened façade she wore.

So why was he so surprised in her admission?

Her arms came up and crossed over her chest so that each hand rested on its opposite shoulder. She was poised like a corpse – it disturbed him even more than her declaration. Her head fell away from him, to her right. Her hands clutched at her shoulders spasmodically.

"D'ya know…no one's ever asked me that b'fore?"

He sat up in an attempt to see her better. His curiosity was piqued.

"Mystique told the Brotherhood Ah was 'Rogue'," she said quietly. "They never asked otherwise. When Ah left for the X-Men…Ah guess they expected that if Ah wanted 'em ta know mah name that Ah'd just outright tell 'em. Not one of 'em has ever asked. They all think it's some big enigma, like how the Professor wound up in a wheelchair…or how many decades has Wolverine actually been alive ta see." He couldn't help but smile slightly at that. "There's a bet goin' between the younger recruits that it's somethin' horrible, like _Leonie_ or _Bertha_. It's gonna be the biggest let-down since they discovered that Santa's not real, if they find out."

"Why won't you tell them?" he asked her, still curious.

She turned her head just slightly, enough so that she could look at him out of the corner of her left eye. "They haven't asked me yet. Ah'd tell 'em if they'd ask." She smiled slightly; her expression seemed to changed and her voice lost its depressing gravity, though in an almost unperceivable way. Her eyes glinted playfully, but without warmth. "Is that childish of me, suh?"

He smiled along with her, though she couldn't see him properly, and ignored the hardening look in her eyes in favor of her warm expression. "No, not at all. Merely bad manners on their part, my dear…Anna-Marie." She blushed slightly as he sounded her name and the coldness in her eyes faded away somewhat; he made a note of it. "You aren't used to hearing your name – or being addressed by it – are you?" he asked her, unable to keep himself from sounding amused.

"No, suh, Ah'm not." She turned to face him wholly, now moving her hands away from her shoulders to her elbows so that she still had her forearms over her chest. "Suh, could Ah ask ya somethin'?"

"Certainly."

Rogue faltered, somewhat thrown by his willingness to be questioned, but she didn't stay shocked for long. "Ah heard the Professor call ya 'Erik' once – that's ya name?"

He nodded an affirmative. "Indeed," he assented. "Erik Magnus Lensherr." His expression became somewhat sardonic for a brief moment. "Though I believe he already knows that isn't my true last name." He looked carefully at the girl, somewhat expecting her to ask for his real last name…but she didn't. He was quietly glad.

But she did ask something else. "Why lie 'bout that?"

"Initially, I didn't trust him," Magneto admitted. "Later, as I began to perceive he could be believed…I just never thought to correct him."

"For the best, Ah suppose."

"Well, _now_…yes."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence at that. Rogue turned her head away again and beside her Magneto lay down. She closed her eyes against the light of the room, surprised to find that her heart was pounding insistently in her ears. It wasn't a big deal…it was just her name. It was only a name. Her heart skipped a beat entirely when she felt a gentle hand begin to toy with a strand of her hair. Something cold washed over her, making her feel both uncomfortable and thankful at the same time. It was one of the strangest sensations he'd ever wrought in her. She kept her eyes closed and sighed, willing herself to revel in the feeling, if not find a way to enjoy it.

As the girl sighed quietly, a slight tension in her arms relaxing as she did, he tensed up immediately, suddenly more aware of the abundance of pale skin she was displaying. With a swift movement he pulled her roughly to him, seeking out the pale skin of her neck like a vampire of a black-and-white movie. She seemed to have a similar mindset to him – like a screen-siren of old she dropped her head back in something akin to a swoon, presenting more delectable flesh to him. He soothed and tenderly kissed the fading bruises around her throat, but at the same time sought out her wrists and captured them in a vice-like grasp.

Many an hour would pass before she would see the tightly-barred gates of the Institute again.

* * *

Morality was a delicate thing.

Morals were taught and imparted all over the world; a more common subject of study globally than any language or science. They could be preached (they always had been and they always would be), but the best way to impart them seemed to be practice. The student would only digress morally if the teacher did as well; so was the motto of family psychologists. The best way to impart morals was to practice them as you would want them practiced by your pupil. A righteous existence that was free of vice and corrupt, dishonest activity was the best lesson one could give to those who would copy your example.

But what to do with the student that _wouldn't_ copy your example?

What to do with the student who had already a sullied morality, thanks to a tumultuous childhood? What to do with a pupil who had begun to shun the morals imparted by a hypocritical teacher long ago, instilling the seed of distrust against any future educators that they would chance to pass? What to do with one whose cynicism against any who would impart moral teachings had lead them away from following any example, instead choosing to blindly carve out an existence by what they could glean to be the absolute truth? That wasn't to say, though, that _she_ didn't have the ability to find the absolute truth in her own mind…but she had no means to know, without aid, which ghost of a thought was a truth and which was a lie.

What to do…what to do.

The grandfather clock in the hall chimed in another hour, drawing out a long chord to advertize the coming of the next day – it was midnight. Xavier looked up from the expenses report on his desk, through the half-lit gloom of his study as if he expected to find something at the door there. A quick mental 'glance' about the Institute told him what he already knew and what he estimated yet…Rogue hadn't come home yet.

This was the third night she'd vanished from the grounds. The first night of her prolonged absence had passed by him without much concern raised – he expected that she was either far too angry or humiliated to return soon from being left in that restaurant by Gambit. The second night cause him a little worry, but he was too mindful of her need for privacy to seek her out directly. But tonight, when he'd detected a presence he was ever-mindful of…

The brief glimpse of Magneto's mind had told him all he'd needed to know about Rogue's disappearances.

Xavier reclined against the comfortably-worn backrest of his wheelchair, closing his eyes tightly as he did. His momentary scan of his former best-friend's thoughts had yielded many surprises, the least of which being that neither had entered their relationship with the intent of spiting him or hurting the X-Men. From what Xavier could gather, Magneto was merely acting on nothing more than a low-burning attraction to the girl which was further pronounced during a stage of heightened sexual tension between the two of them while they waited for her taxi cab – an odd circumstance, but not a malicious one. Rogue, as far as Magneto knew, was enticed by the allure of touch and the thrill of defiance. Both had suppressed and overridden the uncomfortable idea of betraying their cause on the grounds that it was a mere private arrangement, one that no one else could be harmed by unless they found out and made something of it.

However, it seemed as if what had driven his oldest friend to his most wayward student initially was quickly becoming something that Magneto hadn't yet recognized…something that neither of them was prepared for. The man's justifications had begun to fade into insignificance, paling against the more noteworthy things that had already developed from their few trysts – he was thinking wholly of himself and Rogue, now; no other came into consideration in light of these more significant though unrecognised ideas.

He couldn't help but smile, knowing that the stubborn streak in Eric would keep this change in him from being noticeable to his conscious thought until it was far too late for him to correct it.

As soon as the slight smile alighted his face, however, Xavier opened his eyes and sat upright, frowning deeply. Magneto's ignorance to the matter was a whole other problem indeed. The change in his person would be unnoticed until it was too late – what then? Once realized, neither hell nor high water would keep him from acting on that change, attempting to gratify it by any means. He would pour all concentration, all resources at his disposal into satisfying his selfish want. He would only cease when victorious – the stubborn soul that he was – and be damned with the consequences that would inevitably follow; he wouldn't give a thought to the possible ramifications of his actions.

He would attempt to pull Rogue from the X-Men.

Xavier's jaw tightened. The logical side of his mind argued that Rogue would not leave what had become her family without good reason. Wayward as she was, Rogue was still loyal – it would take more than a confusing emotional attachment to draw her to what the younger recruits jokingly termed the 'Dark Side'. Therein was something else to raise concern – did she feel the often conflicting, tumultuous emotions that Magneto did? If she did there would be cause for worry, but if not then even the self-proclaimed Master of Magnetism's best efforts couldn't wrench her away from what she held dear.

Another side of his mind – the battle-ready strategist, acting in harmony with his logical standpoint, as it often did – argued that he had to prepare for the worst; he had to meet this issue directly and bluntly. He would stage the first battle in the impending war. He would set in motion something that would become akin to the Grecian tragedy of Troy within the X-Men, except that neither side could decisively and absolutely lay claim to Helen until the very end of the conflict, with the woman herself deciding who would be the victor. He would strike first, catch Magneto off-guard and make him realize just _what_ he was doing…

He would confront Magneto about these liaisons with Rogue.

* * *

A/N: Once again, it's REVIEW TIME!

RogueBHS: That's what I love about Rogue's power – she actually _can_ understand what people have gone through. I have to say, also, that your sore-spot-of-Scott idea for Remy is a brilliant one. Perhaps it may surface in the future…mwa ha ha ha! As for the little sadist in Magneto…I was thinking that was something that would develop over the years (bitterness towards humans, frustration at Xavier's inability to understand _why_ he hated them so much, etc). Anyway, thank you for the review and I hope you enjoyed this latest update!

IvyZoe: The age difference _is_ huge, yes – from a psychological standpoint it's easily explained by the fact that Rogue didn't have a father figure when she was growing up, and therefore compensates by dating older men. I like to think that's _not_ what's going on here, though. You hit a twist in the plot directly on the head, though – bravo! Yes, Magneto is going to attempt to make an Acolyte of Rogue…though her answer is entirely undetermined, even by me. Thank you for the review and I hope you're still reading!

Nettlez: Well, there was the problem that – if all was forgiven – then Rogue and Remy would have been back together and well…Magneto would either have to turn away, crushed and defeated, or he'd go postal on everyone's favorite Cajun. The second option was appealing, but it just wouldn't have worked, so Rogue had to say 'no'. Glad you like the story! Thank you for the review!

Elle Mooreside: Every day, eh? Yay, I'm appreciated! I'll save you the checking and mention it now – I like to update at the end of the week, sometime between Thursday and Saturday. The slave-master thing is fun to write, but it's starting to get blurry on just who has who under their thumb. Glad to see you like the improved Gambit, too. Thank you for the review and thank you for the doughnuts, as well; I was craving sweet pastry goodness.

ishandahalf: Sweet merciful…something, that was a long review! I've got to tell you, the ending of this will more or less hinge on whether or not Rogue recognizes the _feelings_ brewing up in those hotel rooms; if she does then everyone's inner Romy-lover is going to hurt for it. I can tell you that Gambit is definitely going to find out about their liaisons – his reaction will either make or break the noble Remy I'm trying to create here. There's further angst abound, as well as more of the kinky smut, in coming chapters, but the next helping of Rogue/Remy fun is a few chapters away. Anyway, thank you for the review and I hope this latest installment was satisfactory.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own 'em.

A/N: Okay, my creativity streak has dried up a little, but I still fully intend on finishing this fic. It won't even trail off, since I've written a comprehensive play-by-play of the events that will take place, save for the ending (which I haven't figured out yet). Anway, now that uni is done with until March (woohoo!) I can concentrate on this until I get a job (ick).

Well, I've got a real show for you tonight folks – Rogue's power over the situation is diminishing, Magneto's control over himself is waning, and Xavier is about to do something perhaps a little too hasty.

Love it or shove it.

* * *

**Inappropriate Conduct**

Chapter Five

* * *

Of the dark green-dyed leather that stretched over the top of his large oak desk, imprinted by years of his heavy handwriting pressing through paper into it, had a number of creases – veins, they could be called; random patches where the leather seemed to pull oddly to resemble living, human skin with aged wrinkles. He'd been studying one particular vein for a while now. It was a long, deep vein that seemed to fray in two different directions at the end, like the creases people would get at the corners of their eyes after a certain number of years – crow's feet, they were called. His desk had crow's feet, but it was only perhaps ten years old (though styled as an antique) and well-kept besides.

It wasn't particularly fascinating, yet Magneto had been staring at that vein in the leather for some twenty minutes now with an expression akin to restrained horror on his face.

He hadn't been contemplating creases to find himself with that expression – he couldn't contemplate _much_ nowadays, after all, besides that green-eyed girl. The student of his enemy; a young woman who had tried to kill him…who _he_ had tried to kill in return; an angry, passionate girl with a heavy burden marring the magnificence and godly dignity of her mutation.

She invaded his dreams, though he welcomed her presence. She was always at the forefront of his mind in his waking hours, distracting him from his duty and responsibilities. He couldn't make sense of written words in his idle moments – reading would give him no distraction from her. He was beginning to resent his followers, hoping each time when one of them intruded on his privacy that it would be her. Hours would pass and he resented the seemingly sluggish movement of time – he had told her to meet him again only _two_ nights after their last encounter, knowing that he would regret waiting _three_, but time still seemed to pass ever leisurely to the point that he could only stare furiously at the clock on the wall.

It was pathetic.

He was a proud man and, ordinarily, he was a strong man. He was a powerful mutant, a dangerous enemy and a demanding leader. His Acolytes spoke of him as if he were a savior. Humans would only utter his name quietly, their eyes glazed over with fear. Wayward mutants found a benevolent leader in him. He had gathered masses of support to him by the sheer determination he had to carve out mutantkind's rightful place in the world, as humanity's superiors. He had seen wars; he had fought his enemies and triumphed; he had, when violence was unnecessary, negotiated to win.

He had survived, fought and triumphed.

Now…no.

He was weakened by a pair of expressive, flashing green eyes. His pride crumbled under his need whenever he beheld her sweet face. His power, his prowess as a leader, the fear that he inspired all meant nothing when she smiled at him – even insincerely. The battles he had fought and won paled into insignificance; his defeated enemies may as well have still been standing; his negotiation skills were useless – he had survived, fought and triumphed in every sense but that which was most important to him now.

It was not just disturbing to know that he was trivializing his victories; it was detestable, sickening. It was weak. He hated weakness – he hated _being_ weak. He detested this…this _defeat_. It was as crushing as any other, and just as degrading.

He was infatuated with the woman…the girl. The enemy.

There wasn't much he could do to stop thinking about her; as every hour rolled by he grew worse, anticipating their next encounter with heightening agitation. No occupation was ever so absorbing that he wouldn't find his mind straying back towards her, towards memories of being with her. No distraction could pull his thoughts away from her. He hardly had a moment to himself, to merely just _be_ without constantly analyzing the little things about her; the glances she gave him, the gleam in her eyes when she called him 'sir', the heaviness in her voice when she'd told him her name.

He was infatuated with her. He acknowledged that much.

It was a weakness…this infatuation. It kept him from coherent thought. It distracted him. It left him disgusted with himself, though he tried – futilely – to blame _her_. It left him angry – he was supposed to be in control of himself, for God's sakes, and that didn't allow for endless mooning after a girl who was yet still shy of eighteen! This infatuation of his was bordering on insanity; he had no control over himself. If he did he would have simply told her, last night, that they could not continue on. But he hadn't – he had indulged his fascination with her and arranged to liaise with her again…and sooner than usual!

Yet, he allowed himself this infatuation.

His anger rapidly cooled. Reason had begun collaborating with Passion, turning against Logic for once. His mind argued to look at the situation from the point of a bystander – yes, he was infatuated, and he detested himself for it, but he was happy.

_Happy_.

Yes, it was simply amazing that in his weakness he had found himself happy. This contentment only served to disgust him further, but it seemed that even his fiery temper couldn't dampen the sheer joy in him that she perpetuated. His anger, his disgust, his wounded pride all seemed to shrink to nothing when he reflected on that. In fact, the only thing that could quell this bliss was his natural inquisitive nature, which then had stepped in and asked that ever-frustrating but necessary question – 'why'?

Why, indeed? He was happy, but with what reason? And – perhaps worse still – the source of his happiness was an enemy; if she knew, he doubted that she would use knowledge against him, but could the same be said if perhaps Xavier and his X-Men were to discover it, somehow managing to coerce her into something to suit their purpose? Or perhaps Mystique, who was forever looking for a way to bring him down and install herself as the dominant terrorist force in humanity's heart, would find out – what then? He had more and many enemies, all of whom would rush to the chance to cripple him, to take advantage of his weakness.

He couldn't provide himself with an answer to any of his questions, though. Frivolity started clamoring louder than Reason, laughing off his worries and asking him why he needed to have a reason to be happy. And what did it matter who she fought for? Together, were they discussing anything that didn't pertain to each other, or their trysts? Had she ever even asked him a question that made him uncomfortable, that had made him entertain the idea that perhaps she sought information for her team? Surely what mattered was that – for the first time in so many years – he was genuinely happy with the state of things in his personal life. So they would inevitably change, and more than likely for the worse…why concern himself now? Why poison the present with worries of the future?

All questioning aside, though…he found that he wanted her to feel the same weakness, and – consequently – the same happiness.

Again, he had to ask himself why.

And, again, he received no answer. His mind, it seemed, was deliberately holding out on him there – he tried to ponder his actions and thoughts further, but only found himself back to the beginning of his predicament. His thoughts swirled around endlessly, venturing no further than they already had before veering off into his memories again, conjuring up images of her face, of her movements, of the feel of her. Always, when his questions would search for an answer, they would only meet the root from which they had each sprung: he was infatuated with her.

Magneto shifted his gaze from the deep vein in the leather on his desk to look up at the clock – another hour had passed in his quiet contemplation, and it was eleven o'clock. By this time the following night, he would be holding her. The idea shot a thrill right through him, building agonizing tension and wild elation in him simultaneously – the combination of emotions was electric…strangely invigorating. He leaned back in his chair, the expression of horror that had marred his features finally relaxing into deep contentment though his heart raced madly.

It was this…these feelings that she gave him that made him happy. This contentment, edged as it was with impatient desire, was the by-product of her effect on him. And although he had the feeling he wouldn't be sleeping at all well tonight – heady with anticipation – it hardly bothered him. Overall…well, when he looked at it that way, it didn't seem as if he had much to concern himself with. Certainly a little lack of concentration and those other minor side-effects were a small price to pay for happiness.

Perhaps, then, this infatuation wasn't all that detestable…

* * *

The bruises on her hips were tender – it hurt to stay sitting in one way for too long.

Every half-hour she moved, taking her book with her. She laid down on the rug in front of the TV, next to Jamie as he alternated between watching what was on and reading his comic book. She sat sideways in a loveseat, draping her legs over one armrest and propping up her back on another. She leaned back in the couch, her legs stretched out under the coffee table in front of her. She leaned on the backrest of the loveseat, her forearms resting over the top as she held her book up to her eyes.

She never looked away from the print of her book.

She hadn't turned a page since she'd opened it at her bookmarked place.

But while her restless shifting earned her a handful of annoyed looks and a few exasperated sighs – "jeez, Rogue, just sit down!" – no one had noticed anything else amiss with her.

No one had noticed that she wasn't reading, though she held the book up in front of her face. If someone had peered over her shoulder, asked her what she was reading, she wouldn't have been able to say – she didn't know. While the bruises kept her moving about, that seemed to be all the physical activity she was currently capable of.

No one had asked why her eyes weren't moving over the page, or why they were fixed in a kind of unusually emotionless stare – she wouldn't tell them, if they did ask. But, the fact of the matter remained that as nosy as the X-Men were, they never seemed to ask questions when it would actually make a _difference_. When gossip was to be heard the entire Institute would know by dinner, but whenever something unusual was afoot…everyone seemed to be twiddling their thumbs and whistling up at the ceiling, either ignoring it or passing it by without notice.

Right now…something incredibly unusual was afoot. So, naturally, no one realized.

Rogue re-read the passage in her book again, trying to draw herself out of her thoughts. '_I _care for myself. The more solitary, the more friendless, the more unsustained I am, the more I will respect myself.' The words were easy enough to read, but whereas she could vaguely recall having memorized the line for some reason or other, she couldn't for the life of her think what it was referring to, what it meant or why it was significant to her. She blinked, finding her eyes were oddly dry.

She could still tell that everyone in the Rec Room was fixated on the idiot box – no one had noticed her blank expression, her unmoving eyes. No one usually noticed her, anyway.

No one _would_ notice.

Tensed muscles in her shoulders and back relaxed slightly. She leaned deeper into the headrest of the loveseat, finally getting comfortable though she was still standing. But her head still swam with thoughts, with questions.

She'd come back home at two in the morning to find things commonplace – Logan was in the kitchen, staring down the narrow opening of a beer bottle with a haunted look in his eyes; a handful of the New Recruits had sequestered themselves in this very Rec Room with a number of movies, but had long since watched them all and were packing up to go to bed; Hank was emerging from the lower levels in the general direction of his room, still in his lab coat and rubbing his eyes; everyone else was fast asleep. Hank hadn't seen her; Logan hadn't seen her; the Recruits hadn't seen her. Everyone was too preoccupied to notice her.

Still…

There was an unmistakable feel of change in the air. It was tangible – it hung over her head, ominous and unavoidable. She couldn't find _what _had changed, though. She'd studied the face of each X-Man that had been present for breakfast and found nothing – she hadn't seen Xavier or Logan at the table, though that wasn't unusual, and Storm was hidden behind the newspaper, but what else was new? She hadn't found anything different in the faces of the people she considered her family.

After breakfast she'd taken to wandering the halls of the Institute blindly and wraithlike, gliding from room to room without a purpose and not seeming to take anything in despite her staring eyes. The fact of the matter was that she had actually scrutinized nearly every room in the mansion – from the guest rooms to the laundry to the communications room in the lower levels – with the hope of finding _something_.

Nothing was different – not a book out of place in the library; not a chair askew in the Professor's study; not a faint singe-mark missing from the Danger Room. Everything from the pots and pans in the kitchen to the old newspapers in the garage…it was all exactly how it had always been.

So the change was with _her_, then, as it often seemed to be.

Now, in the Rec Room and surrounded by blissfully oblivious teammates, Rogue stared through her book and looked into herself. Meditating, finding the inner-child, soul-searching, or whatever. There was a song – didn't it play on the opening credits of Ally McBeal? – that featured those words. Searching my soul, the woman sang, over and over. Those lyrics were repeated over and over in the song, and the song was repeated over and over for the duration of the series. It didn't seem to get either the characters of the series of the songstress anywhere, as far as any actual philosophical and meaningful discoveries were concerned.

Rogue's eyes flickered for a moment, briefly showing rising anger and suppressed amusement before returning to their usual blank state. Wasn't this nice? Avoiding the issue with useless trivia, rather than meeting her inner demons, was almost a specialty of hers.

She blinked again, steeling herself in a way.

What about her had changed…?

Nothing on the _outside_ was all that different than it had ever been – aside from her faraway stares that no one noticed, the bruises no one could see, and the slightly paranoid look she sometimes gave her teammates that no one ever noted. She was physically the same person that she had been for some time now, but something was still changed. Well, then…what was the _cause_ of those faraway stares, those bruises, those paranoid looks? That was something easy enough to discern…

The cause lay with her liaisons with Magneto: the self-proclaimed Master of Magnetism.

However, as easily as the answer came, no further discoveries could be made on it. She had determined the cause, but what made it a personally altering force? How were these encounters changing how she felt, manipulating and toying with what made her _Rogue_?

The answer to those questions would be, she knew, far removed from her initial worries – she found that her concern over Magneto's gentler caresses had paled into insignificance alongside this new revelation. The two things were entirely unrelated in her head. A few sweet touches couldn't change a person, it was impossible – she still had her wits about her enough to know _that_. No matter the degree of tenderness he showed her – seemingly not of his own will sometimes – the cause for her change couldn't be blamed in that.

Guilt had also fallen through under the weight of this troubling new thought; very few of her quiet moments were spent reflecting on the possible ramifications of this relationship on her teammates now. She certainly still felt definite twinges of regret when she observed the smiling face of Kitty, the crazy antics of Kurt or the solemn dignity of Storm, but the guilt was hardly so troubling as was the idea that she was changing and with no reason why. And there, in that fact, was more weight added upon the heaviness of her initial problem.

Yes…there was no reason to change, yet she was undeniably changing.

She found no answers as to _why_ she was changing – there were only more questions. Rogue could only discern what _wasn't _changing her; things that were of little consequence anymore. Worse still, she couldn't even determine what _about her_ was _changing_.

Aloud, she heaved a restless sigh – sitting on the loveseat that she leaned over, Jubilee her face turned up to Rogue for a moment and gave her a quizzical look. Rogue kept her face blank; the other girl resumed her observation of the TV.

She focused her eyes and began to study her book again, trying to find the passage she'd left off at.

…To no avail.

Almost suddenly, as she marked her page with a bookmark and snapped the leather-bound thing shut, it struck her – her book fell to the ground, slipping from her suddenly rigid hands. She knew exactly what had happened, what had changed… It was the very thing that had drawn her into this relationship in the first place; it was the very thing she had craved like nothing else; it was the very thing she was worried he was taking from her…

Her power – her control – over the situation. It was no longer there; it was no longer the security blanket of her thoughts, shrouding her guilt.

But…it wasn't all that much of a problem.

She blinked, trying to think _why_ it didn't matter – why had it taken so long for her to realize? What had made her stop craving that power she so desperately clung to initially? It had been such a problem to her, just two nights ago, when she realized that he had been sapping at her power – what had changed? Why didn't it matter? What had happened to her?

"Rogue?"

She jumped as if she'd been shot and whirled around to face the owner of that inquisitive voice, wincing as her bruises protested at the movement. Jean, looking confused, compassionate and concerned – an expression that seemed to be exclusive to telepaths – was staring at her from one of the armchairs. Rogue's eyes darted about the room; everyone else was watching her too, all with varying degrees of surprise, fright, worry and nonchalance in their expressions. Rogue quickly bent down, scooped up her book and straightened up again.

"Uh…nothin's wrong. Just remembered somethin' Ah was meant ta do," she lied. She cast a quick look at Jean before she could conceal the apprehension in her eyes: an admittedly stupid move – Jean's expression boiled down to a curious one; her eyes flickered slightly. Rogue clamped down on her thoughts, quickly. "Somethin' _personal_," she added, casting a hardening glance at the young telepathic woman.

Jean winced, immediately ashamed. "Sorry…it's a force of habit."

Rogue took a deep breath, but was surprised to find she wasn't angry…only scared. "S'alright," she said quickly. She spasmodically clutched her book to her chest and hurried out of the room. She had to leave there…_now_. She needed air; she needed to get away from their belatedly inquisitive eyes.

A whispered chorus of "wow, I though she'd bite your head off, Jean" and "is she okay?" followed her out of the Rec Room, but Rogue was hardly paying attention now. Her pace quickened; she began running through the foyer, through the front doors and out into the night on the stone steps. She collapsed over the railing of the stairs, her breath coming out in shuddering and heaving gasps – she sounded ill. She tried to calm herself down, but couldn't. Her eyes began to prickle harshly – her vision was taken over by a series of black and white pinpricks…

"Oh, Gawd," she whispered. She took in a great gulp of air and forced her heartbeat down, warding off disaster with practiced masterfulness. "Panic attack," she wheezed, diagnosing her condition as she still hung over the stone balustrade – her bruises complained with a dull ache at her position, but she didn't take any notice of them. Her heartbeat slowed, gradually, and she resumed breathing normally again.

So…_everything_ had changed. _Everything_. Her entire reason for assenting to this relationship had more or less disintegrated and she didn't care. There was no real, valid reason for her to consent to this any further, other than the fact that she had all but told Magneto that _he_ would be the one terminate their arrangement…

…And that, although she felt somewhat worse to admit it, she _wanted_ to continue on even now.

She stuffed her balled-up gloved hand in her mouth and bit down hard to distract herself – it was no use, though. Something had happened, something had changed. She had her answers now, even if she didn't have the control she so desperately craved anymore. And, even more dissatisfying, those answers didn't seem to comply with the question. There was still something…more. Something else that had to be discovered; something else to be revealed. Something that she had absolutely no say in, no control over…something entirely out of her hands. Something that, she felt, was all to do with _him_.

"Somethin' _seriously_ fucked up," she cursed quietly, feebly attempting to heave herself up from the cold banister before conceding to dangle there like a rag doll.

* * *

The first move was made.

Establishing contact had been simple enough – phone numbers and addresses were relatively easy to find in the mind; they were hardly guarded secrets.

Arranging to meet had been relatively easy – a simple warning, albeit melodramatic, had warned of the awareness of third parties to this…indiscretion.

A place had quickly been designated; the promise was to meet within the hour. Without another word, both parties hung up their end of the line and began their journey to this sudden midnight destination. All despite the fact that the affronted party would usually fly into a blind rage at having being contacted by _this_ accuser, especially under the weight of such indictments.

As midnight came and went, Xavier began to feel uneasy.

Meeting at midnight…it was such a cliché. Meeting at midnight in a dimly lit park was all the more worse. This scenario was the opening fodder for a John Sandford novel – trite, overdone and contemptible. Perhaps that was why Eric was yet to appear? Perhaps he had figured such a setting beneath him – he often made a point of avoiding clichéd, pedestrian situations and places. Xavier regretted not having thought of that before.

But surely his _old_ _friend_ wouldn't miss _this_ appointment?

Integrity, pride and self-preservation could surely all be quelled by the Master of Magnetism when necessary, and when would it be more necessary than _now_, when those very three things were threatened by him…the man whom Magneto had grown to hate most. He hadn't given his name, over the phone, but he hadn't had to. He'd been recognized instantaneously.

"Good evening, Eric," he'd said, before his old friend was even given an opportunity to draw a breath. "Are you well?"

There had been a stony silence on the other end of the phone line for a long moment. "Charles," had been the icy return. "To what do I owe this surprise?"

"You aren't going to demand to know how I came across this telephone number?"

"I was just going to suppose you called every number registered until you found the right one," Magneto had returned dryly and without humor. "I'm not a fool, Xavier, no matter what you think to the contrary; why would I ask any telepath – particularly one who has made a pastime of interfering with my life – how they come into personal information of any…?"

"Why, indeed," Xavier had agreed, cutting him off. He liked to hear his shortcomings and transgressions of morality as much as any other man, after all. "And, since you've accurately supposed I have seen inside your mind, you can more than likely determine the nature and purpose of this call."

He received a long silence for that observation. After perhaps two minutes of silence, Magneto had sighed heavily. "What do you want, Charles?" he had asked wearily.

Thus, Xavier had explained just what he wanted – a chance to talk, face to face. Never had his old friend been so reluctant to agree! How the Master of Magnetism had been reduced, giving half-formed answers – stalling to think of a way out of such a meeting – before eventually conceding with a heavy tone of defeat. It was truly amazing; all the times and trials Xavier had gone through to – as the saying went – bring the man down a peg…all it had taken, in the end, was the attentions of his most wayward and potentially dangerous student.

Xavier drummed his fingers against the arm of his wheelchair, turning his thoughts away from his nemesis and to the aforementioned student – Rogue. It was easy to see, from a psychological standpoint, why she had embarked on such a venture. There were a number of reasons pushing her to do so. Her restrictive power, being one, but there was also the tendency of young women who had been raised without father figures to seek out older men in a compensatory gesture. However, surface impressions very rarely showed the whole picture, clearly – Xavier didn't doubt that Rogue, ever an enigma, had very different motives to what he supposed. The fact that he could safely assume he had no clue as to what those motives were was both a blessing and a curse.

As for Magneto? Well…one could only _ever_ guess what he thought.

Still, the man was yet to arrive. More than likely, it was a combination of pride and a dread of the inevitable that had kept Magneto absent from their arranged meeting place so far. But Xavier hadn't much more of a wait ahead of him.

The streetlamp on the corner of the footpath flickered momentarily; Xavier – used to such signals – made to look at his watch again and found that both needles were hovering about the four – pointing towards the magnetic north. He tried to suppress a smile as yet still his adversary hid from him. "Sneak tactics are rather futile, Eric," he called out into the gloomy darkness. "You always forget the effect you have on wristwatches."

The watch righted itself immediately. Xavier couldn't help but laugh, even as Magneto descended from the shrouding darkness of the trees with a purely irate expression on his face – somewhat hidden by his helmet – and his arms crossed over his front rather like a petulant child. "If you wish me to remain here while you deliver your next self-righteous tirade, I suggest you reserve your humor for later," he rebuked bitterly. Xavier couldn't, as usual, see much of his old friend's face for his helmet, but what could be seen clearly demonstrated his anger. This was hardly a moment to be humorous.

"Self-righteous?" he repeated quizzically, with all humor fading from his expression. "I couldn't suppose to be self-righteous."

Magneto's expression cleared slightly. "Ah, yes…I had forgotten. Nearly a decade ago now, wasn't it?"

"Indeed," Xavier assented. "Time has made a hypocrite of you, it seems. You, more than anyone, loudly declared that the age difference between Emma Frost and myself to be inappropriate. And now…" He paused, fixing the other man with a cool, level stare. "Now not only do you take the liberty of performing a similar transgression, but with a greater age difference between you and the young woman in question."

* * *

A/N: More on the confrontation to come – for now, it's REVIEW TIME! And happy holidays to all!

Nettlez: Well, if anyone was going to figure it out with very few clues, it would have to be Xavier, I thought. I mean, seriously – no one at the Institute's even realized that something's up with Rogue, and if Magneto's cronies are any the wiser they know better than to say anything. Anyway, thanks for the review and, well…hope you enjoyed the update!

Elle Mooreside: Better than before? You're brilliant for my ego, I have to tell you. Sporadic and ill-timed updates are an unfortunate throwback of my current jumpy schedule, though – sorry. I _really_ try to keep a smooth updating deadline for myself, but it just doesn't happen. Bleh. On another note, I'm glad you liked the 'good God' bit – I couldn't help but grin my head off writing that. It's always such fun to make even non-practicing religious characters say something blasphemous. Whee! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this latest installment (which was probably posted absurdly late, knowing me – I wrote this review-reply the on the day I received the review) and thank you for the feedback.

RogueBHS: Cookie-cutter like…that's a good euphemism. And a very accurate one. Which is, unfortunately, one of the many factors that keep me from writing another Romy – they just get kind of predictable. With this…hell, even _I_ don't know how it's going to end, and there are a number of possible outcomes. Anyhoo, good suggestion with the final choice of Rogue's, though now I have yet _another_ alternate ending to consider for the final chapter. Hoo boy… The confrontation, by the way, was one of my favorite pieces to write (it's almost ready for deliverance!). You've already seen above that Xavier has been through a similar experience…well, the elaboration was all the more fun. Hope you enjoyed this update and thank you for the review!

IvyZoe: I know exactly what you mean about all that Xavier being indifferent to Rogue – I mean…no! This man is not just a grandstanding philosopher with a pipe-dream! He's a responsible guardian and an accomplished academic! Unfortunately, everyone at the Institute has their own problems and consequently (as long as I'm writing the script) would be somewhat self-absorbed, to a degree. Thus, only Xavier is any the wiser. And, yes, Gambit's reaction is going to be an interesting one, but I hadn't thought before of adding in a Wolverine confrontation scene…but maybe I will…hmm. Anyway, thank you for the feedback and…ta da! Here is the update!

ishandahalf: …You know, I burst out laughing when I read that 'absolutely spiffing' bit…and I didn't stop laughing for a _long_ time. Quite British, indeed. Yes, Xavier was admittedly a bit slipshod about the whole thing, but – as he says to Magneto in the next chapter – "I won't harass you about corrupting my student…she is a corruption of her own. What concerns me is that, currently, she corrupts _you_." I feel the need to tell you, though, that Remy isn't going to figure out independently that his _petite amour_ committed her indiscretion with his admittedly tyrannical former boss – but when he finally puts two and two together…whee! Oh, it's going to be fun writing that part. Thank you for the review (and the gold stars) and I hope you enjoyed this heapin' helpin' of update!

Christina: Glad you're enjoying it. I hope this chapter was satisfying too!

willowaus: Woohoo! Another 'shipper! There are actually a number of people saying they enjoy this pairing, but there are so few fics out there to accommodate for us. It's truly a crime. Well, I for one hope to remedy the situation. Hope you enjoyed the update!

thriller: Yes, the little analogy Xavier made there was a reference to the whole Helen of Troy dealie – I never saw the movie, personally, as I understood it involved tie-dyed mu-mus, but that's a whole different branch of thought. Thank you for the compliment on my writing technique – it came at a most opportune moment, because I've been lately starting to worry about how it was starting to sound. Anyway, thank you for the feedback and I hope you enjoyed the latest installment!


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own 'em. Pfft, as if _that's_ changed since the last update, especially since my state of unemployment hasn't wavered a bit…

A/N: Well, I still don't have a job, so here's to a stream of uninterrupted creativity! Damn, I need money. But, that's hardly anything that anyone here can remedy, unless Marvel likes to scout for writers here amongst the masses of fangirls (read: sarcasm)…

This time 'round, we pick up where we left off – Xavier is confronting Magneto, making him realize things that were really better off kept in the gloom of the Master of Magnetism's clouded mind. Rogue, meanwhile, is beginning to feel as if she's discovering something…like herself.

Love it or shove it.

* * *

**Inappropriate Conduct**

Chapter Six

* * *

Xavier had to admire his old friend's conviction – he was standing accused of both hypocrisy and immoral conduct, without the wherewithal to defend himself whatsoever, but still he remained proud and tall; he didn't slump in defeat, become frustrated or desperate, or begin to waver at all in his conviction and right to do as he wished. He merely stood there, awaiting condemnation and determined to face it like a man, preparing his rebuke in his silence. Perhaps he believed he deserved to be called on this act? Perhaps he was merely containing his raging anger, preparing to strike back with a vengeance? Perhaps he just had nothing to say?

Perhaps he just didn't care. As usual, Xavier couldn't discern his old friend's emotions for the life of him.

"Well, Charles?" came the impatient demand. "Do you suppose you can correct me when you yourself are guilty of similar transgressions?"

"Correct you? No, not at all." Xavier paused. "I can only implore to your morals; I can only feed your guilt. Failing that, I can only caution you…"

"Feed my guilt? _What_ guilt, old friend?" Magneto demanded, his upper lip curling in disgust.

Xavier smiled slightly and, despite himself, took on a sardonic look. "Of course…I forget myself. You don't feel such things, do you? Each action you take is careful, decisive. Guilt is for those who make mistakes, those who aren't absolute in their conviction. Guilt is for those who act rashly, who surpass the restrictions of their morals." He leaned back in his wheelchair, his eyes turning hard and cool. "Do you _have_ morals any more, Eric?"

"The first barb of disgust," Magneto mused, assessing his look carefully. "You accused me of hypocrisy; it seems as though I'm not the only one here guilty of it."

"I never said I wasn't."

"Indeed…but, if you cannot be morally upstanding in this situation, and if you – by your own admission – are without the ability to be self-righteous towards me…what have you? How can you suppose to tell me to cease and desist now, if doing so makes you worse than I in this foray of crumbling morality?"

Xavier shook his head. "You misunderstand me, old friend." He paused. "While I can no more approve of this situation as you could of the similar case ten years ago that surrounded myself…I am not here to pass judgment and condemn both you and I to being definite and true hypocrites. I am here to caution you."

"Caution me," Magneto repeated incredulously. "And what, Charles, do you suppose to caution me of?"

"Of Rogue."

Magneto was obviously taken aback. Xavier tried not to smile – it was plain to see that his old friend had expected a personal attack; the girl was already absolved from blame and all wrongdoing in the other man's mind. "As absurd as it sounds," Magneto said slowly as he recovered his composure, "what does she have to do with your warning to me?"

"You expected me to berate you for corrupting one of my pupils, didn't you?" Xavier said, allowing himself another slight smile. "Again, I couldn't honestly do that with a clear conscience. You were right when you told me, once, that my teachings to my students are on the very same level as yours to your followers – we each tell a tale that suits our purpose, omitting the bad and playing down the holes in our ideologies in favor of what we each believe. In a sense, I corrupt my students daily, as do you your Acolytes. However Rogue never quite followed my edicts as law…that is to say, she has always been knowledgeable to such propaganda – one couldn't remain ignorant, I suppose, given the nature of understanding that her powers allow her."

To both their seeming surprise, Magneto slowly sat down on a nearby park bench and – perhaps even more surprising – removed his helmet cautiously. "What are you getting at, Charles?"

"To be brief, you don't know what you've gotten yourself into," he said bluntly. "I won't harass you about corrupting my student – as I have said, she is a corruption of her own, much like Emma Frost had been and possibly still is; neither woman was aware of her manipulative powers and while that might have changed for Emma, Rogue is still most certainly unaware of her corruptive qualities. But what concerns me is that, currently, she corrupts _you_."

"That is _preposterous_…"

"…But nonetheless true." Xavier leaned forward now, all humor gone from his expression. "Tell me, honestly, that even after so short a time you could easily allow her to fall from your life. Tell me if you could terminate this relationship you have started with her and not spend an indefinable period of time lamenting your decision, if only because it suited you to continue. Tell me that you don't find yourself thinking about her far more than you would have estimated when you first arranged to meet with her regularly."

Magneto was silent.

That was an answer enough for Xavier. "Take the word of a man who has trod this worn path before you, Eric – she will be your undoing if you don't cease now."

"What do you mean by that?" was the following angry demand.

"Don't you remember what happened to me once I became fixated on Emma Frost?" Xavier returned, calmly. "I can't remember the time well at all, whether it was a series of days, weeks, months or years, but from what I gather from the bystanders – yourself and others – I spent much of my time blind to anything else but the sight of her. My concentration on all else diminished to nothing. I was irritable to anyone who was not her. She had me successfully captured under thumb without exerting even an ounce of effort."

Once again, Magneto remained silent but the expression on his face told that he was considering Xavier's words.

"It took more effort than I had ever exerted on any one endeavor to forget her when she left the Institute," Xavier continued. "At long last, when I was myself again, I found that everyone else had abandoned me in the process – you were long gone, and I had no idea when you had left. I sought to rebuild what I had lost, but for many years I had only a handful of people surrounding me – Wolverine and Storm…Cyclops and Jean. Only just recently have I been completely able to pull myself together, yet I still fear that if Emma were to return to the Institute I would find myself back in the very place I had striven to rise from."

"And you suppose that the same will happen to me? That Rogue has bewitched me in the same sense that Emma had bewitched you?" Magneto asked, finally awaking from his silence. The disbelief and cynicism was evident on his face. "The only similarity between the two situations is that there is a proportional age difference between ourselves and the two young women."

"Then you don't find yourself occupied with thoughts of Rogue when your mind should be concentrating elsewhere? You have been able to function normally, without any impediment? You haven't found yourself despising anyone else who attempted to consume your time, when you were preparing to meet with her?" Xavier paused, waiting for an answer – he received none, which was evidence enough. "Before long, Eric, you are going to find that you can only find happiness in your time with her. Later, you will find yourself wanting to _share _that happiness with her. Later still, you will find that you cannot comfortably pass a day without at least _seeing_ her…unless, that is, you have already reached that point."

"And what _point_ is that, Charles?" Magneto asked sardonically, caustically. He rose as he spoke, replacing his helmet and obviously preparing to end this meeting.

"The point of no return; love." Xavier smiled again as his old friend's eyes widened then quickly narrowed. "Yes, love. Once you have ascended to that point, I'm afraid there is no comfortable means to turn back. Even so, you mightn't wish to do any such thing." Xavier inclined his head. "I know that I certainly didn't, but Emma felt the need to and took the choice from me."

"This is ridiculous," Magneto muttered, looking away.

"If you insist." Xavier paused purposefully. "I will request, however, that you endeavor to keep these liaisons quiet – I know Rogue hasn't mentioned them to anyone within the Institute and I would like to leave the decision to her, so long as this doesn't interfere or jeopardize with her position as an X-Man. It's an unwarranted caution, I'm sure – after all, you are more than likely to be mindful of her wishes…perhaps more so than I."

* * *

One o'clock in the morning found Magneto in…a notably foul mood.

He paced lengthily up and down the expanse of his study – far too energized and irritated to go to bed – as he muttered to himself a series of empty threats to Xavier, a handful of self-affirming reprimands to himself and a number of unfettered, unattached curses to the world in general. His anger, his indignation settled over him like a low, dark cloud. Fatigue ate at him, but he had to let his anger run its course; sleep wouldn't come easily or fitfully, if at all, in the state he was in now.

"'Perhaps more so than I'…all that talk about not reducing himself to a judgmental hypocrite was nothing more than empty words."

What else did he expect from Xavier, though? His mind reproached him for leaving the shelter of his base to meet with the man. But what other options had he been given at the time? He could have denied Xavier the satisfaction and, rather than comply to meet him, had told the man – to use the vernacular – just 'where to go', but then how could he be certain Xavier would not keep silent? What was to stop his former friend from forbidding his young student from leaving the Institute's grounds? No…he had met with the man for precaution's sake.

"And that alone."

His mind wouldn't let that be the end of it, however – unbidden, memories of Xavier's decline at the unknowledgeable hands of the girl who had gone on to call herself the White Queen danced across his mind. He could remember quite clearly now the rapid disintegration of Xavier's interests in all things pertaining to mutant-human relations; his time became consumed with his young student until eventually there was no room for anyone else in his life. He abandoned all projects and concentrated all his time into the young woman, who had then been twenty.

At the time, Magneto had condemned Xavier a fool – he _had_ been the first to abandon the man in his crumbling Institute. He had quickly come to the conclusion that whilst Xavier was perhaps not intentionally a lecherous man, he was – if nothing else – unable to keep himself fixated on the greater goal that lie ahead of him. He had given up love for his noble pursuit, but then reverted back. This, Magneto had concluded, showed weakness more faithfully than any devisable test. There was, he found, a distinct weakness in the man and – he later deliberated – a weakness in his dream.

Now, however…now he could only remember the young woman, Emma.

He hadn't ever been particularly attached to the girl; he realized some years ago, after having left the Institute, that Xavier had more or less intercepted any attempts made by either party to get to know one another better. That was of little consequence now, however. His mind, acting against him, brought to him memories of her and Xavier.

She had been a very apt, headstrong but compliant student – all very admirable traits in a pupil. She was sharp and keen-eyed; she could spot an exploitative point in an individual instantaneously. However, her quick senses had failed her all those years ago…yes, indeed…

…She had been entirely oblivious to Xavier's intent, until it was far too late.

Previously, Magneto would have laughed to reflect on that – the girl's disbelief when he had plainly communicated his old friend's feelings towards her in a fit of accusatory rage at her as he had first set to leave the Institute; the shock that had been evident on her face when she found out from the man himself upon a confrontation; the uncertainty and, though she never said it herself, fear that kept her solitary in her quarters for almost three days.

Now, however, he wasn't laughing.

It sharply stood out in his mind how oblivious the girl had been, despite being a telepath. He could remember distinctly, now, just how distraught Xavier had been when she had fled the Institute, confused with herself and all those around her. Images of his devastated former friend flittered across his mind – the man had walled himself up in his grief, refusing to say much or do anything; there had been no means of talking with him, then. Magneto had been contemplating leaving for some time, irritated with the stagnant progress of Xavier's grandiose dreams – in his disgust at this perceived weak and selfish mourning, Magneto had decisively left.

But now he could sympathize; now – despite himself – he regretted leaving as he did, like the few others that had been there at the time.

Now…he worried for himself.

But why?

Indeed, why? His situation was entirely removed from Xavier's – the only similarity was the age difference, as he had told the man so. After all, to draw the _first_ dissimilarity, Xavier and Emma had advocated the same cause – Rogue was a part of the X-Men, and the X-Men stood for everything that Magneto fought against. Not once had Emma questioned Xavier – if ever Rogue joined him, he got the distinct impression that he would be badgered constantly with questions challenging, if not scrutinizing, every move he made.

_Secondly_ – Emma and Xavier had never been lovers, before or after Xavier's declaration of affection for the young woman; Magneto and Rogue fought on opposite ends of the battlefield, certainly, but it seemed as if both had harbored a quiet, low-burning attraction to the other that had rather spontaneously erupted into this secret affair. Xavier had never shown a physical motivation for pursuing Emma, but physical motivations were what made the foundation of Magneto's relationship with Rogue.

And _thirdly_ – Xavier had been blindly in love with Emma; Magneto was not…he was not…

Magneto froze in mid-step, finally ceasing his relentless journey back and forth across the wearing carpet of the study. It felt as if his mind had suddenly run into a brick wall – he couldn't finish his deliberation without it cutting itself off on his logic. An unbidden revelation struck him – before he could deny it, the idea had firmly taken ground in his mind; its retribution for having been previously ignored so blindly and fastidiously.

He sank down into an armchair; the revelation began to assault him relentlessly. He was in love, it stated clearly. He was in love with that small, pale girl. He was in love with Rogue…with Anna-Marie.

…He was _in love_, for God's sakes.

He groaned and sunk his head into his hands. Good grief, Xavier was right…_again_. This was far beyond his expectations; he, as his damned former friend had warned, had gotten himself in a predicament that he hadn't prepared himself for. He hadn't guarded himself against the possibility of _loving_ the girl, because the idea of _love_ hadn't even crossed his mind when he'd first reached for her. There hadn't been any stirring in his heart when he'd first held her close to him; he'd been suffocated with lust, yes, but there hadn't been so much as a hint of love in him for her.

Yet…here he was, faced with a situation very much like that which Xavier had nearly destroyed himself with.

It had verily snuck up on him. Only a few hours ago, he had merely been contemplating the small idea of being infatuated with her; it had crossed his mind that he could be merely infatuated with her, but…not _this_. However it was most certainly love, he knew that much. Already he had compromised himself for her; allowing himself idle time to distract himself with thoughts and memories of her, endeavoring to know her better as a person where he should have kept his mouth shut, tenderly embracing her when he should have just left her alone, and so on.

What had persuaded him to continue on with this liaison? What sinister voice had been whispering in his ear, clouding his judgment and making him blind to the signs in front of him? A handful of days ago he had a firm hold on his emotions – he had been in control of himself and all around him – but not anymore. Now, love had him by the throat and he couldn't spare a moment for anything that didn't involve _her_.

Still…oddly enough, he didn't blame her for any of this.

She had, in actuality, discouraged his tender embraces. Whenever he asked her a personal question she would fall silent momentarily, as if attempting to find a means around and out of the inquiry. They had exchanged no declaration of feeling; she conversed with him little more openly than she would a casual acquaintance. There was little indication of _any_ emotion in her actions and words…

But still…

He was certain that she would have perceived a change between them too. Perhaps she hadn't acknowledged it as love – perhaps she was still far from feeling that, yet – but she was quite clearly a naturally perceptive young woman; her powers made her so. Even if she felt nothing in return, she would have – in the least – found a change in _him_. Though he was still certain she felt _something_; he was certain that she trusted him to some degree. Trust hardly amounted to what he reciprocated it with, but…he'd take anything she had to offer. His pride prickled to acknowledge that, but it seemed that side of him had faded to a mere whisper where she was concerned.

It was a truly disturbing idea, to fall in love without his consent or, indeed, without his knowledge. How quickly had his pride eroded; how rapidly he'd lost control of the situation. It had only happened once before – with Magda – when he had been entirely unprepared against the emotion. Since then he had guarded himself closely, but somehow this girl had fallen through the chink in his barricades. Now that it had happened, though…what was he going to do?

* * *

The sun had dawned on a new day some hours ago.

Lunch had been announced by Storm not too long ago. A loud clattering on the floor below, accompanied by the occasional noisy exclamation or not-infrequent bang, provided all the necessary indication that, indeed, lunch had commenced. Rogue's stomach growled at her fiercely – it could have put Wolverine to shame – but she refused to move on its account. She remained as she was, bundled up with her knees drawn up to her chin as she huddled by the curtained French doors. She hugged her legs tightly, convulsively, as she shivered uncontrollably in the warm room. Her eyes were fixated on the locked door that led into the hallway beyond her darkened chamber.

There was a thin stream of light that shot across the dark carpet, emitting from a gap in the heavy curtains behind her. Along its way it illuminated a series of mismatched shoes, pieces of crumpled paper, an occasional book and a mass of CD cases – the debris of her roommate, who had left the room before Rogue had woken and, in a trance-like state, curled herself up to sit as she now was and as she had been for the past five hours.

Kitty would return after lunch – she always did. Every Saturday, without fail, Kitty would come into the room after lunch and spend half an hour selecting another ensemble before heading off with a number of other girls to the mall.

Rogue knew she should get up. She should at least lock herself in the bathroom – even Kitty wouldn't intrude on _that_ locked door. She should have hidden herself. She should've done _something. _

But her mind was far from her younger roommate and her habits.

She'd fallen asleep last night with relative ease. In fact, she'd slept better last night than she had for some time now. She'd woken up, feeling large and in charge…ready to seize the day. She'd stretched luxuriously, reaching up high to the ceiling. She'd felt remarkably _good_. She'd felt as though she could've taken on the worst of the world – a level nine Danger Room simulation; a Friends of Humanity riot; Apocalypse; whatever. She had been ready to face the worst with headstrong determination and a defiant, battle-ready stance.

She'd managed to get her feet on the ground before it all collapsed on her.

Even now, after so many hours with nothing else to contemplate – after a near sleepless night throwing about her revelations and questions in her head – she couldn't understand what had happened, but as she'd looked up to the mirror on the dresser…well…

The reflection was _her_, or the 'her' that Rogue had once been. For just rolling out of bed, she had to admit that she wasn't looking too bad – her hair was only slightly rumpled and, with her face yet untouched by makeup, her eyes shone brightly. The faint, natural color of her skin seemed to glow with life. She looked invigorated, alive. She looked like she was _supposed _to, like the happy-go-lucky little girl that Irene used to care for _should _have looked as a young woman…before she was diagnosed with a 'skin condition' and had become a pale, shrouded ghost.

Once in possession of that medical certificate, Rogue had slowly developed a feeling of unworthiness – she _wasn't_ that happy, smiling girl anymore, she used to tell herself – she _couldn't_ be that girl when she was wrapped in a shell that prohibited it. Why should she…no, how _could_ she still look like her? Thus had begun an expensive and concealing trial with heavy foundations, dark eye-shadow, thick kohl pencils and dense lipsticks.

Seeing that happy girl in the mirror had struck her strangely, but she hadn't been able to understand _how_ it was disturbing her. It was just her reflection.

Perhaps her problem lay with the fact that she was used to _not_ being that girl. Visitors to Irene's house used to wonder if she had _two_ children in her care, when they observed the photographs on the mantel – there was one of a smiling girl in a green dress on a swing set, but then there was another of a miserable girl turning away from the camera and hiding her face in her hair. The only thing that linked the two girls together was the peculiar stripe in their hair.

Rogue still felt that she wasn't that girl. That girl was Anna-Marie; a sweet Southern girl who climbed the highest trees with the boys and played jump rope and hopscotch with the girls – _she_ was not Anna-Marie. Quietly, she would have _loved_ to be that girl again. She wanted to smile with carefree happiness. She wanted to be able to walk around without a greasepaint mask on. She wanted to throw back her head and laugh. She wanted to be pretty again. She wanted to be loved again.

She wanted to be Anna-Marie again.

Though what she wanted and what she could have were, as the saying went, two entirely different things.

She was still everything that made her what was the Institute's _Rogue_ – quiet, untouchable and grave. No one smiled at this quiet Rogue like they did the vivacious Anna-Marie. No one loved this untouchable Rogue like they did the carefree Anna-Marie. No one wanted to know this grave Rogue like they did the happy Anna-Marie. She would probably never be as she was before – life experience disallowed it – but to have just a little of what she was inside would make Rogue feel like a complete person, rather than a shell.

All in a split second, in front of that mirror, had all these things danced across her mind. Gloom overtook her cheery demeanor, but just as soon as it did…up came another revelation that turned slight but manageable depression into sheer and unbalanced horror.

She had accepted long ago that no one saw anything of Anna-Marie in who she had become – not Kitty, who shared a room with the divided girl, nor the Professor who had seen into her mind previously. Not even Remy, in whom she had hoped to find the means to resurrect Anna-Marie, but had instead found a much more severely divided person who required help and healing more than she did.

No. It seemed that no one saw Anna-Marie in her…_except_ _Magneto_.

Looking in that mirror, she could see the girl she had once been – devoid of a mask, ready to face anything that life threw at her. A girl who's unkempt wavy hair fell in front of her face on the right, who's eyes shone with anticipation; a girl who could tease and console at the same time, whose prickled pride could give way to a fiery temper.

She saw, in short, everything that she knew Magneto would have seen in her.

_This_ was the girl he had so reverently called by name two nights ago; _this_ was the girl he tried to impart gentle caresses to; _this_ was the girl he marked so fiercely. She wasn't the Rogue that the residents of the Institute knew to him – she wasn't an enemy during that time. She was a companion, a lover, a quiet presence. It was amazing to feel that…to feel _wanted_ as more than a comrade-in-arms on the battlefield. To be wanted as a woman. To be _seen_ as more than just her shell.

_That_ was what had changed.

But as much as it amazed and thrilled her, it scared her. Who wouldn't be scared? She was being brought back to her former glory by a man she was supposed to be indebted to fight against; she was showing her brightened side to a man who she was supposed to abhor with all her being. No one at the Institute had even inquired after the girl she was; none of them seemed to think she had ever been anything more than a quiet, solemn person. None of them knew anything about Anna-Marie. _He_ knew different and _he_ wrought change in her, without her knowledge.

Thus, trance-like, she had risen from her bed, locked the door against intruders and tucked herself into her corner.

There, she had tried to deny that Magneto could see what was left of the girl she used to be. She tried to tell herself that there was no resurrecting Anna-Marie now – the very thing she'd begun to believe after she'd discovered that Remy couldn't even attempt mend her until he himself was mended. She attempted to make herself see that he probably only saw a convenient vessel in her; his tender touches were probably invoked by fleeting memories of women he had loved in the past. She reasoned with herself that she was _still Rogue_ – nothing Magneto did would change that.

None of this reasoning stuck with her.

She couldn't place _why_ she allowed him to see Anna-Marie, though, which only unnerved her even more. Trembling violently, she had shut herself down against all thought and pulled her knees to her chest all the more tightly, eyes staring wildly over her limbs at the door handle.

There, without even coherent thought for company, she had wiled away the hours until lunch.

A polite knock came at the door at one o'clock. She knew it was one because of the voice that issued forth after the light rapping: Kitty's voice. The girl was as regular as clockwork, on Saturdays. "Rogue? Are you in there? The door's locked."

She didn't answer – her brain was still closed off against any higher processing than it took to keep her breathing.

"Hello?" A pause, then a sigh. "She must've forgotten to turn the latch when she got up…but I would've thought she'd be here. She wasn't at lunch…" There was no second voice; Kitty was musing aloud to herself. Remarkably, after a second pause, she left without further investigation – her light footsteps receding down the hallway advertised her exit.

Silence resumed.

Rogue hadn't moved all the while; she had barely registered her friend's appearance and departure from their bedroom door. However, as this second silence fell over the room – only the birds in the grounds beyond the French doors were audible now, and their song was faint – her hands loosened from her legs. Slowly, her chin rose from her knees and she blinked; her glazed eyes cleared. She looked around the room as if she had only just seen it, as if she'd only just really woken up.

With the falling silence, Reason had spoken up again in her mind and broken her stupor. It had told her the pointlessness of her fear; what answers would she get with a jumbled mind in a closed room? Least of all she could pick herself up. She should face the day like she did any other – blank and impassive, but vigilant. Better, surely, to act as normal than to arouse suspicion, even if she felt far from normal.

She got to her feet and caught her reflection in the mirror again; she couldn't help but smile sardonically at the sight there. She was once again too pale, her eyes unattractively dull and her face plain and humorless. There was no pretty blush staining the cheeks, nor a light smile on the lips, nor a steadfast determination in the forehead. She wasn't the woman that Anna-Marie was supposed to become. She was herself again, as the X-Men knew her.

She was weary-eyed, guarded, malcontent and spiteful.

She was not Anna-Marie.

A quick glance at the alarm clock on the bedside table told her she had guessed the time of her roommate's arrival correctly – it was now five past one. She was meeting Magneto at eight.

Yes…despite this horror at seeing things that shouldn't be, despite her growing fear of this unusual feeling that hung over her yet-fresh memories of her time with him…despite all things that would ordinarily keep her away from a destination or an individual, she would see him tonight. It wasn't so much an obligation – though it never had been – as it was a curiosity. The fear and apprehension was charmed; there was something all the more unusual in her unrelenting want to see him despite the apparent deterrents. That too scared her, but the fear was overridden by curiosity and her simple, stubborn want.

So she would see him tonight. She would be Anna-Marie again, even if only for a few hours.

It was something she both _wanted _and _had_ to do.

* * *

A/N: The end is nigh. Not right now…but _soon_! Right now, though, it's REVIEW TIME!

ishandahalf: That was one honking enormous review! Where to begin, where to begin…? Well, I'll give you this – the Gambit Confrontation that you and many others are looking forward to is scheduled for chapter nine (the second-to-last chapter, or maybe third-to-last). There will be anger, hurt, betrayal and angst a-plenty, but there's still a chance for Romy goodness. I must say, though, that there shall be no floating metal orbs into the sunset, whether Magneto convinces Rogue or not. :) There will be complications ahoy if I decide that Magneto will be accidentally cluing Rogue in at a premature time that he's (as you've now found) in love with her. Otherwise, it will more of a game of cat and mouse with the skirting about the delicate issues, avoiding the 'L' word and so on. Tee hee! I hope you enjoyed this update and – since you appreciated it last time – here's another preview (ahem): 'Yes…_that_ was what he wanted; he wanted her to be with him, always. He wanted to be able to wake with her, to spend his idle moments with her, to wind down a long day with her. …As long as she was an X-Man, however, she would never want to fill _any_ of those places – he knew that.'

RogueBHS: I'm sorry for the Emma/Xavier gag-worthy moment there, but I felt that Xavier needed to lose some of his high-ground in the situation – it was kind of spur of the moment, and it was either that or bringing in Moira MacTaggart and say that she'd been his student, despite not being a mutant, but there's just this happy feel of gossip and indignity around the mere mention of Emma Frost, isn't there? Half of the scandal is already laid out for the reader before I've even mentioned what happened between them! Whee! I'm glad that you think my work doesn't look as though it's thrown together in ten minutes – sometimes I worry about stuff like that, even if I spend a day and a half editing it. Bleh, I'm neurotic. Anway, thank you for the review and words of encouragement – stay tuned for more internal dialogue:)

IvyZoe: Mm-hm, oh yes he did! Xavier's pretty smooth, isn't it? I'm hoping that I can capture that, and I also hope that the confrontation between Xavier and everyone's favorite Master of Magnetism was a satisfactory job. :) As far as the three anticipated reactions go…firstly: Magneto. You know how he is – he'd sooner die than admit to anyone aloud that Xavier's right, but at least he admits it to himself; yes, he is in _love_ with Rogue. I know, it does feel kind of icky with the age difference, but – like you pointed out – it doesn't really matter in the end. Gambit's reaction will appear in chapter nine, unfortunately (I'm saving the _good_ stuff). And as for Rogue…hm. It could be that she's falling in love…but she might still have feelings for Remy. I'm not telling just yet! Ah, anyway…thank you for your feedback and I hope you enjoyed the latest helping of update!

thriller: All the praise you give me goes straight to my inflatable head, I swear. I pour over most of my paragraphs once they're written, trying to make them more emotive; it's wonderful to hear that it's appreciated. :) Onto the Troy discussion, I'm not entirely sure about the tie-dyed mu-mus to be honest – they're like big ponchos that cover your entire body, sort of like a dress except they can be worn by men; specifically, I believe they were on Brad Pitt and Eric Bana in the movie 'Troy', and both men are the kind you don't associate with dresses, but with manliness. You see, _that's_ where my issue stems from. Lastly, regarding Remy (hey, that sounds like a good title for a Romy…hm), he's got a while before he makes his case to Rogue – then, at long last, the moment of truth! (Insert crazy 'The Shining' music here.) Anyway, thank you for the review, I hope you enjoyed the update and you're welcome for the previous response.

willowaus: Oh, there's more to come with Magneto, trust me. I've always felt he was a sort of unbalanced character, not listening to his own mind and ignoring warning signs when it was convenient – after the wondrous revelation above, well…it gets better. Just wait. Their relationship is about to either spontaneously combust into oblivion or it's going to become more of a cat-and-mouse chase. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this latest installment and thank you for your response.

Elle Mooreside: Being replied to is fun, is it not? Thank you for the compliment of the internal monologues – I have to admit, they're where I flounder. I keep going over those paragraphs more than I do the spoken dialogue, because spoken words are more easy to…I don't know, envision. You sit down to write internal monologue, and you keep wondering 'would they say that?' I'd love to read your smutfic, by the way, and I'm certain it's not ADD at all. Could I get a title, at least? Pretty please:) Well, anyhoo, ta for the review and I hope to hear from you again.

Expected Aberrance: It was probably my lack of luck finding _any_ Magneto-centric fics that really pushed me to write this one (and thank you for your high esteem of said fic!). Clever moniker, by the way – would there be any particular story behind it, or is it just something that came to mind when you created your account? Well, as you requested…here (or was) is the update! I hope you enjoyed it.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: No, I don't own them. Big surprise.

A/N: Still flat broke over here – in lieu of a paying occupation, I've taken to writing. I actually started this chapter the day after I finished the previous one…but I already know, despite the fact that chapter six is a number of weeks away from appearing on that this chapter won't be featuring as a double update. Anyway…

Let's look at the lineup for tonight, then, shall we? There's more sexy sexin' to come, but first we've got more internal monologue from Magneto! Later, as she quietly retreats home to the Institute, Rogue makes _more_ discoveries of the self...while contemplating an offer that is more enticing than it should be. All that and more tonight, folks!

Love it or shove it.

**

* * *

**

Inappropriate Conduct

Chapter Seven

* * *

She was late, though only by a handful of minutes.

Nonetheless, Magneto had always been fairly susceptible to paranoia. Now his mind had already carried him away to a place where Xavier had told Rogue that he was aware of their relationship; the girl had walled herself away from the world, mortified, and Xavier had illustrated a tale to his X-Men that would serve the dual purpose of making a treacherous whore of her and a lecherous fiend of him in their eyes. However, just as he was deliberating how such a twisted tale could reach the ears of his estranged children or his Acolytes to wreak further havoc, a taxi cab halted at the steps of the hotel he waited in front of. A familiar figure alighted the curb from the vehicle; a recognizable curious expression assuaged his paranoia.

As she approached, he found it hard to believe he had mistaken this feeling, this stirring that she invoked in him for anything other than love. Watching her approach him, at once timid and eager, was one of the most compelling sights he'd ever seen. Still, Xavier's ten-year demise at the hands of a young girl in a similar situation was still at the forefront of his mind; it pierced through the veil of rosy illusions and reminded him to be on his guard.

But how could he be ice and rock to her in such close proximity?

After his conversation with Xavier, Magneto had attempted to determine what to do now that he had found himself in love with this girl. It seemed he had very few future options. One that had announced itself timidly in his mind, to be vetoed rapidly and ruthlessly, was the idea of merely ending the relationship. It made sense from a logical standpoint – love could make a person strong, yes, but the strength it provided rested entirely upon one point; the wall against the worst in the world that love provided could be immediately destroyed, with devastating result, by hitting the right point in it. Love was the strangest combination of weakness and strength. To him, additional strength was unneeded, particularly when poisoned with the threat of fragility. Why take an unnecessary chance?

But as soon as the logical side of his mind paused in its delivery, his heart reminded him the devastation of losing a love – how the loss weakened a soul drastically, unrelentingly. Why would he subject himself to such a thing? He had lost one love to Fate; he could not render himself from a second chance of happiness. To _willingly_ do such a thing, if it were similar to losing a love involuntarily, would be akin to suicide in his heart.

Still, that having been determined, it gave him very little movement forwards or backwards – there was still no definite answer of what to do. It seemed to him that he had to do _something_; he could hardly keep arranging to meet her at various hotels for an indefinite period. The idea seemed to cheapen what he wanted for the both of them. He wanted to be able to have her at his side for more than a handful of hours at a time, for more than mere physical gratification. It seemed, though, that for that to happen he would first have to take the potentially disastrous step of telling her _why_ he wished to know her better and become closer to her – he had to tell her _why_ much more of him than his lust clamored to be satisfied by her.

Suppose he told her, plainly, just how he felt – what then? Her guarded gestures, her careful manner and her often-restrained passionate emotions were indication enough that, even if she felt the same as he did, she had not acknowledged love in her heart yet. She was a careful person – it would take either much time or a strategy of hints and persuasions for her to allow herself the liberty to _feel_ for him. Even if she could patiently accept what he felt before then, there would still be an underlying uncomfortable air between them during future liaisons. If his feelings confused and scared her, she would deprive him of her presence. Neither option was desirable to him – he wanted her to be with him, at his side, and to be comfortable and happy there.

Yes…_that_ was what he wanted; he wanted her to be with him, always. These brief encounters were mere teasing morsels that he could steal – they were hardly enough to satisfy. He wanted to be able to wake with her, to spend his idle moments with her, to wind down a long day with her. He had found himself looking to empty spaces in various rooms –the unused second armchair in his study; the vacant pillow beside his own in his bed – and wishing that she would occupy those places.

As long as she was an X-Man, however, she would never want to fill _any_ of those places – he knew that.

So, his logic had collaborated with his heart for the moment; they had wrought a reasonably simple conclusion. He would attempt to persuade her to join him – not as an Acolyte, but as an equal, as his love. He could satisfy his relentless, restless need for her companionship; he would no longer have to reduce himself to sneaking about to see her; he would have but to turn and face her to feel the invigorating thrill that only she could give him.

His mind then posed a damned question that could have put a halt to the entire idea – _how_ could he persuade her to leave her comfortable place with the X-Men to join him? Fortunately, his logic continued to speak to him and provided an answer: he would offer her what he could and hope it would be enough. It wasn't an entirely satisfying answer; it didn't assure him that he would win her, but it was all he had. Even yet, his logic interjected, he couldn't offer her love – not until he was sure she reciprocated it, or not at least until she could _potentially_ could reciprocate it. Still, even with love being out of the bargain, he had something to offer that the X-Men didn't – something that he knew would entice her.

_Power_.

It was apparent that she liked to be in control of herself; being out of control, after all, was often devastating to both her and those around her. Still, try as she might, she could never be entirely in control of herself so long as she was an X-Man; he had a feeling that she realized this, too. As an X-Man, she would be perpetually taking orders from those who professed to havequicker judgment, more experience, better strategy skills. She would never have control as an X-Man, unless she gave up fuelling her passionate anger, her ruthless determination, her inquisitive mind – she could never had power with her teamunless she gave up all the things that made her who she was, essentially.

All that remained was to open her eyes as to how things would be different at his side, where she would be free to act as she would – she wouldn't be placed under the restraint of being an Acolyte, as he judged them (as he did with most of his followers) to be inferior to him in some intrinsic way; she was not to be perceived in the same light as they were. She would be his equal, not his subordinate. She would be free to exercise power over herself. If she showed a skill for control, perhaps he would even give a degree of power over his underlings – not a large degree, naturally; he desired power even as much as she did, after all. Still, even with such restrictions, she would enjoy more power with him than she did with the X-Men.

Now…all that remained was pushing forward, initiating the matter.

It seemed easier said (or thought) than done – she had alighted the steps now to stand just one stair below him; she had tilted her head up to him, that delightful curiosity still brimming in her eyes. The slightly-parted lips and the already-present color in her cheeks made it difficult to remember his conviction – indeed, it was difficult to remember much at all when she stood there, like that, looking so very beautiful. Before he could stop himself, he had pulled her up in a tight embrace, crushing her lips to his in a passionate kiss – who cared about the bemused or shocked expressions of the people around them? All he could think of was how very little time he had with her, for the present.

He released her after a long moment; he couldn't help but grin at her dazed expression. "Anna-Marie," he murmured quietly, brushing aside a lock of her wavy hair to see her better. Her color rose all the more and a shy smile spread over her face. The curiosity in her eyes faded.

"Happy ta see me, suh?" she teased.

"Please, my dear…call me by name," he insisted. He wasn't about to tell her she was his equal before clearing up _that_. "I hardly think those initial formalities could stand anymore, do you?" He had ordered the requirement of her under the impression that she was inferior to him, albeit desirable – he was hardly of the same frame of mind now.

"Ah don't mind callin' ya 'suh'," she admitted honestly, speaking easilyas if she'd anticipated this change of heart in him. "But Ah would prefer ta call ya by name…Eric."

And, truth be it known, he preferred to hear his name pronounced by her rather than have some anonymous formality being addressed to him…he preferred it very much, indeed. Such revelations need never be known to her, though. "Shall we, Anna?" he asked, taking her hand and gesturing towards the entrance of the hotel. She returned his inquiry with a smile that lit up her eyes, relaxing her hand in his and unknowingly heartening him towards the confrontation that was to come.

* * *

He was restraining himself, severely. Rogue could tell this much even with her back to him as he sat on the bed, failing to appear careless and relaxed as she unzipped her dark green dress. Something akin to elated hysteria swarmed in her head, making her dizzy as the empowering knowledge of her effect on him swirled around in her mind. She shoved the lightheaded emotions out of the way, though. She faced enough confusion and questioning in her idle moments – she would reserve tonight for _them_, for sensation. Tomorrow she would interpret, panic, fear, ponder or confuse herself.

She bit her lips together, out of his line of vision, and sat down on the bed with only her white lace underwear to save her modesty. She was somewhat surprised to find that her heart was already beating incessantly, but she could hardly be calm with him staring at her like _that_.

The bed shifted behind her; Magneto had settled at her back. His calloused hands found her waist and slowly, gently drew her closer to him. She leaned her head back onto his shoulder carelessly, turning to kiss along a line of sinewy muscle in his neck. It was one of the few intimate things she had done – a fact they were both now very aware of. His hands tightened convulsively at her sides, digging into the white lace she wore and just as abruptly relaxing again.

When she raised her head again she was turned about to face him, though before she could register what his motives were his mouth crushed hers; his arms wound about her tightly.

He was simply amazed that she had done such a thing, and it was all the more difficult to hide his amazement as her arms wrapped around his neck loosely. Finally releasing her from the kiss, he couldn't help but smile at her. "And here I was beginning to think that you abhorred all manner of gentle caresses, Anna-Marie."

The girl gave him a small, slightly dazed smile. One of her hands weaved into his hair and began to play with it – an act that was so relaxing that he found it hard to keep his eyes focused. "It doesn't make sense ta only stick with rough play," she said eventually, carefully.

"Indeed," he concurred. He loosened his grip on her, but bent his head to carefully nip at her earlobe. "I wouldn't veto it entirely, though."

She smiled, but her eyes were curious…as they so often were with him. Rather than say aloud what caused that positively impish expression, she dipped her head and traced with her lips what remained of that bite mark she'd left him with on their first night together. It was still slightly tender but her exploration was far from being discomforting. He allowed her free reign, therefore.

…Only to jerk abruptly when she began to nip lightly at the fading bruise.

Her eyes turned up to his. "Ya don't like it?" she asked.

Quite the contrary: he enjoyed it thoroughly. "Now…I never said that, my dear," he told her. He could vaguely remember them saying almost exactly the same thing to each other on their second night together; judging by the fleeting expression of wonderment on her face, so could she.

As the oddly reminiscent look on his face began to fade away, Rogue smiled. The curiosity was gone from her eyes as she moved her lips to his shoulder, lightly nipping at the flesh there with the slightest pressure of her teeth. In retaliation he began to gently soothe the fading bruises on her hips, tracing them lightly with his fingers with just enough pressure that she could feel the slight shockwave of indefinable sensation.

She scooted closer to him, still sat sideways on his lap, and raised her head up again to lightly caress his lips with hers. His hands immediately sought out her the base of her neck and the small of her back respectively – she was crushed tightly to him as he deepened the kiss. Rogue couldn't help but moan; even if her control in this situation was abruptly and mysteriously gone, his was still intoxicating. She could abide by the lapse in rough embraces if his touch was still accompanied by silver-thrill, powerful rush.

Rogue moved herself from his lap to stand, leaning forward, between his knees; there was the sound of a zipper and her violet skirt fell in a soft mass at her high-heeled shoes. She ran her dark-painted nails over his chest before seeking out the hem of her own shirt and pulling it up, casting it to the side. She'd worn no stockings this time and stood in front of him, still leaning forward into his kiss, in two scraps of violet lace.

The hand at the base of her neck convulsed before releasing her – his hands found her arms and he straightened her. Rogue bit her lip and shivered under his lust-filled appraisal. He slid forward from the bed and knelt in front of her on both knees, almost reverently. She moaned quietly as his hands began to survey her body, trailing over her stomach lightly and skimming her waist. His wandering paused briefly at the lace resting on her hips, but continued shortly to discover the soft skin of her thighs. She couldn't repress the groan of frustration that earned from her, but the impatient noise turned into a gasp as his mouth began to retrace the path his hands had discovered, trailing over her abdomen and ghosting over her waist. Once again he paused at her hips, but his hands found the lace there again and hooked into it. Slowly, the garment was pulled down. A lingering kiss was pressed to a small freckle on her hip. Rogue sighed and dropped her head back, unable to watch him anymore.

Magneto couldn't help but smile triumphantly as shaking, tentative fingers weaved into his hair. Her legs were trembling violently as he ran his hands over them again. He wrapped his arms around her and turned them both around, pushing her back gently to sit on the edge of the bed. With a brief pause, he draped her legs over his shoulders and began pressing a trail of kisses against her inner thigh, moving upwards. Her fingers tightened in his hair, but her legs tightened over his shoulders. He paused, just for a half-second to make sure her reaction wasn't a signal to stop, but when she didn't move to push him back he assumed his ascent.

A breathy gasp broke the stillness of the room as his mouth found her most sensitive flesh. He moved up to gain better access, tilting her body back so that she reclined on the quilt. He pressed torturously soft kisses to her, teasing her – he moved back to see her face and lightly dragged a finger over her slit, somewhat surprised to find her already wet. He breathed in deeply, still watching her, and savored the sweet scent of her – he hadn't taken the time to discover that scent before. He rolled his thumb over the little button of nerves that guarded the entrance to her body, smiling to himself as she moaned and rocked her hips into his touch.

"Look at me, Anna-Marie," he instructed. "Watch me as I do this, or I won't do it at all." Her half-closed eyes opened languidly and she levered herself up on her elbows, blushing furiously. He held eye contact with her for a brief moment before seeking out the nerve bundle his thumb had found, grazing it with his tongue.

She moaned softly and her body dropped heavily back onto the soft quilt. He immediately stopped his ministrations on her and sat upright again. "My dear, didn't you understand me?" he asked, with a deliberate edge of anger leaking into his voice. "I want your eyes on me, watching me pleasure you. I'll cease immediately if you don't sit up, _now_."

A desperate moan answered him.

"Anna-Marie…_now_."

The girl raised herself up on shaking arms, fixing her hazy, lust-clouded green eyes on him. He smiled slightly, which seemed to induce a shiver in her. He bent his head down again and dragged his tongue over her slit, lingering over her clit before descending onto the little button with his mouth, lightly nipping it. Her breathing began to turn into quick pants. He began to kiss that responsive nub, drawing surprised gasps and long, high-pitched moans from her.

Rogue was shaking violently, finding it a hard time to keep her eyes open and her head up. She tightened her hand in his hair unconsciously as he began to stroke her with his tongue faster and faster. Her head was swimming with lust, her limbs were leaden, her vision was blurry; she was on the brink of no return. She began writhing tensely, moving her hips into his touch. His rough hands grasped her thighs and pushed them further apart. He held her that way as she arched up against him, whimpering piteously.

The pressure on her clit became harsher; Rogue couldn't help but let her eyes roll to the back of her head. There was a feeling of pressure building up in her stomach, uncurling into something sinister and uncontrollable. Her moans were becoming louder. Her body quaked. His teeth joined his assault on her and it was too much. She cried out, her body seizing up and her head falling back as blinding, consuming pleasure overrode her senses. He continued to move his mouth over her until her breathing returned to shallow gasps before kissing the inside of her thigh and standing.

"Oh, Gawd," she whispered as her vision cleared.

"No, not God. Only me." He was looming over her, watching her come down with darkened eyes. His expression was neutral and his voice was controlled, but the veins that strained in his neck conveyed his raging lust clearly as he tore at the buttons on his shirt. Divested, he lay over her and sought out the clasp of her bra. He wanted to see her entirely, _all_ of her – he hadn't yet. She watched him with half-hooded eyes, arching her back to aid him. He pulled the scrap of lace away from her and threw it carelessly aside, then turned back to her.

She was still blushing red from her climax, with her wavy hair disheveled and her lips parted. Her arms were moving uncertainly, attempting to hide her breasts from view without his notice, but he took her hands in his. He kissed her palms, still drinking in the sight of all that creamy flesh – trying to savor the image despite his desperate need to feel her. He leaned over her and gently kissed her breasts to sooth away her self-consciousness. He chased away an errant drop of sweat from her collarbone with his tongue. Her arms stopped their resistance and she sighed.

He released her, straightened up and ran his calloused hands up her arms, over her collarbone and down over her soft breasts and stomach until he found her hips. "Beautiful," he said hoarsely. She blushed all the way down her neck and turned her face away demurely. He brought it back to him with a gentle but firm hand before laying over her and kissing her deeply. "My dear Anna-Marie, you _are_ beautiful," he insisted fiercely.

She nudged his lips with hers. "Eric…" she whispered.

Her soft voice brought his attention back to the condition he'd been in since she'd allowed him to shift her onto the bed. He captured her lips in a searing kiss, earning a groan from her. Her hands found his back; her nails dug into him. He could hardly believe it – she was already wanting more.

They broke apart. "Insatiable succubus," he reprimanded, smiling. He nipped her neck and she sighed.

"Prob'ly," she agreed.

With one swift movement he was inside of her. Rogue wrapped her legs around him tightly and nuzzled his shoulder, biting the muscle there. She was rewarded with a low groan and he began to set a slow, easy and heavily restrained pace. Rogue bit her lip and tilted her hips just so, and within moments she was writhing beneath him in pleasure once again. She couldn't help but smile slightly, reflecting that he'd been right about her – insatiable.

Magneto could feel the sweat rolling from his forehead down his face, despite the cool air of the room. He set his jaw and determined to keep to his slow pace, but the way she was moving her hips and those delightful whispered pants she was making were doing nothing for his self-control. The incredible tight warmth of her clutched him desperately, provoking him beyond reason. The mere soft feel of her skin had him groaning as he moved between her thighs. She ran her tongue over her lips, drawing his attention there. Staring up at him with lust-clouded green eyes, she smiled. "Eric…" she whispered again. She stretched her head back, exposing her neck. "Please, Eric…"

It was more encouragement than he needed.

He attacked the unmarked flesh between her shoulder and neck, sinking his teeth into it like a starving man with a warm meal. Seemingly without his knowledge, his thrusts began to take on an immediately urgent edge. He groaned loudly against her skin, goaded as her pants became whispered screams of pleasure. She writhed and thrashed beneath him, arching up to feel more of him as he pressed down to feel more of her. He released the flesh between his teeth and buried his face in the soft cushion of her hair, setting his jaw in an almost pained grimace as the pleasure built in the both of them.

His thrusts were gaining more force; she was tightening around him. Her whispered screams ceased and a long, high-pitched cry spilled from her just as a loud, low groan erupted from him. Ecstasy had reached it's peak – they hit simultaneously, momentarily blinded by the rush of ecstasy as it enveloped them. Rogue shuddered and shook violently as Magneto thrust into her body one last time, with every muscle in him seized up in intense pleasure.

"Oh, Gawd," Rogue whispered again, blinking rapidly as the rush subsided.

Still with his face buried in her hair, Magneto laughed. "I keep telling you, my dear, my name is Eric and I can only assure you that I am not a deity."

She smiled, closing her eyes. "Ah'll get it right one day, Ah'm sure."

"_One_ day, perhaps," he agreed with humor. After a pause, he levered himself away from her and all but collapsed at her side on his back, groaning. He ached all over, but it was well worth it. She rolled to curl up at his side, her hand tentatively reaching out to trace the lines of muscle in his chest.

"Worn out, huh?"

"I'm an old man, Anna-Marie," he reminded her.

"Ya don't look it."

Magneto couldn't help but smile slightly. "Flattery."

"It's said ta get ya everywhere," she remarked, resting her head against his side and grinning. "But Ah'm not lyin', an' ya know it. Ah'd have guessed ya were about fifty if Ah didn't know better."

"Hm." He rest his right hand on her hip, holding her to him. His free hand sought out the fingers that played along his chest, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Thank God for the super soldier serum, then. I'm still very much older than you, my dear – perhaps physically we aren't _so_ far apart, but in the literal sense I'm seventy-four. I could very well be your grandfather…my own children are only some six months younger than you." These thoughts had been with him for a while, but whereas the age gap didn't bother him as much as it perhaps should he had been wondering if maybe she felt it would be something to be concerned over.

It seemed, however, that his fears were unfounded because she looked up at him at that, her expression light though serious. "Eric, what's it matter? They say opposites attract, ya know – Ah figured a man whose powers revolved 'round polarities would appreciate that more than anyone." She laid back down, relaxing against him. "Besides, ya saw what happened when Ah tried ta make somethin' happen with a guy closer to mah age – all Ah got was guilt, uncertainty, hang-ups an' embarrassment."

"Perhaps you just chose wrongly."

"Yeah, that too. But Ah'm content with what Ah've got now; Ah'm in no hurry ta run back for younger men." She rubbed her cheek against his side and tucked herself against him more snugly.

"Just as well." His arm tightened around her. "Dare I ask who it was you were there to meet on that fateful night we first met as anything other than enemies?"

She sighed. "What's that matter, Eric?"

He frowned up at the ceiling, surprised by her reluctance to give him a name. Was she worried that he would become jealous and single her former lover out on the battlefield when he next crossed the X-Men (for he had no doubt her last paramour _would_ be an X-Man)? But how could she be worried about that, when she didn't know that he loved her? Was she merely embarrassed? Was she afraid he would confront his predecessor and, in doing so, expose their secret trysts to her team?

Perhaps she still loved this other man…

That idea stirred dull but consuming anger in him – jealousy rose up in him like never before. "It matters, my dear," he told her, trying to keep his voice as light as possible as he groped for a reason to be annoyed. Thankfully, before a long silence passed by, one presented itself. "You've never refused me your confidence before."

There was a extensive pause, which he found excruciating. At long last, Rogue sat up, lying on her stomach. She gave him a weary but good-natured look. "It was Gambit," she admitted.

"Gambit," he repeated, quirking an eyebrow at her.

She extracted her hand from his and swatted him on the stomach. "Don't give me that look. Ah know thatAh should've known better, but Ah was just so stupid over the idea that someone like _him_ could want someone like _me_."

Magneto sat up, leaning back against the headboard and fixing her with an unrelenting glare. "'Someone like him'? A lying, deceitful thief…a thoughtless trickster, who kidnapped you and risked your life to save that of a man he feels nothing but contempt for?" He was trying his very best to keep his face neutral, but he was quickly turning red with suppressed fury. She couldn't have _ever_ loved that man, could she? She couldn't _still_, if she ever had? "How can you hold him in such high esteem after all he's ever done to you? He's abused your trust repeatedly without a thought for the consequences…"

"Y'see, _this_ is why Ah didn't wanna tell ya…"

"Why?" he demanded.

"'Cause Ah knew that it'd prompt ya into a long list of his shortcomin's! He's not perfect, Eric, but none of us are." Rogue began to trace pattern on his chest again, trying to avoid the steely glare he had set her with. "He was the first man ta look at me like a woman; he was the first person ta notice that maybe _Ah_ want intimacy too, even if Ah couldn't have it."

He held his glare on her for an agonizingly long time, before finally turning away as if to study the bedside alarm clock. Silence reigned, broken only by the whisper of his skin under her gentle fingers, until finally he caught her hand and held it still.

Rogue breathed out slowly, realizing she'd done something wrong. Perhaps they'd been better off with the arrangement of him as the aggressor and her as the submissive, neither of them talking. Having moved on from it, Rogue was somewhat surprised to find she had no real wish to go back again, but…well. The silence they'd shared then was much more bearable than _this_. She began to pull away from him, to retrieve her clothes and secure herself in the bathroom, but his arm around her middle tightened all the more. She couldn't help but smile. He didn't want her to go.

He finally turned back to face her, and though his face was no longer red with rage his jaw was set tensely and his eyes were still cold. "Are you still seeing him?" he demanded.

She shook her head. "After Ah told him that Ah met up with someone when he stood me up, he left without even askin' who. Then when he came ta try patch things up…Ah told him it was over." She pressed a kiss to his chest. "Ah've got the decency not ta string him along when Ah've found someone else...even if he wouldn't do me the same courtesy," she added darkly, before scooting closer to him again.

Magneto couldn't help but relax at her reassuring words. It seemed as if, barring a quick and decisive move from Gambit, Rogue was well and truly _his_.

The girl raised her head slightly, a curious look on her face. "It makes ya feel better ta know Ah got hurt by Gambit?" she observed.

"In a sense, yes." He smiled at the look of indignation that crossed her features. "My dear, I don't revel in your pain. This turn of circumstance merely means that I don't have to make unreasonable demands to satisfy my want of you. I don't intend to share you, but neither do I intend to place restrictions on who you see or what you do with your time. I want you to be as comfortable with me as I am with you."

She smiled shyly at him and laid back down again. "Ah'm comfortable with ya," she assured him. "An' those 'restrictions' seems a whole lot more reasonable than some of what Ah'm used to."

_Is that so?_ he wondered to himself as a triumphant sensation grew in him. Perhaps it would be easier than he estimated to persuade her to join him. "Talk about something else, Anna-Marie…talking about old flames is hardly the ideal way to spend time with a lover, especially when that time is limited to these brief windows of opportunity."

Rogue began to ghost her fingers over a scar on his ribs. "Ya won't tell me about the loves _you've_ had?"

The hand in her hair untangled itself and began to gently pass over her cheek. "I've only loved once before," he told her plainly. "She was a human – a fact which always struck me at a sore point even when she was alive. Her name was Magda, and she was the mother of my children. She died giving birth to them." He paused, frowning. "She had run away from me just prior to collapsing in labor, deeming me toodangerous to be around the childrenafter I attempted to protect her during a riot and wound up accidentally killing twenty people. I had to do much to find Wanda and Pietro afterwards."

"That's horrible…" Rogue whispered.

"What is? My crime?"

"Well, yes. But she didn't realize ya were tryin' ta protect her?"

Magneto waved away her concern with his free hand, pushing down the memories as they rose in his mind. "Haven't you already seen all this? You've turned your power against me more than once."

"Ah don't pry into people's memories if Ah can help it."

"An admirable effort – most people in your position would abuse that power readily."

Rogue made a face. "Not after they'd done it once or twice. Ah started out just takin' what Ah could get, but Ah eventually just felt so strange havin' other people's memories…livin' out nightmares that weren't mine, missin' people Ah didn't know or rememberin' places Ah'd never been to…" She shook her head. "It's kinda creepy."

"It doesn't sound at all easy to live with when you put it like that," he observed. With a decisive gleam in his eyes, he took this as his cue. "Has Charles offered you help? Has he been coaching you to control your powers?"

She shrugged. "He walled up all the psyches Ah had once, but it's nothin' Ah can't live with."

"You shouldn't have to 'live with' anything of that nature. Why doesn't anyone offer you help?"

"Ah never asked for it. They figure Ah'm a secretive person."

"But you've told me everything I've asked of you, hesitating – I assume – because I am supposed to be your enemy."

"Ah know ya can be trusted."

Magneto sat upright and pulled her with him so that she was leant up, resting against him for support with her legs still lying stretched out. He wound the arm that had secured her hip around her waist and held her tightly, and his left hand tilted her face up towards him. "Anna-Marie," he said quietly, suddenly more apprehensive and tense than he could ever remember having been in all his life, "do you honestly trust me?"

"Absolutely," she replied easily.

"Dare I suppose that you care for me?"

She blushed brilliantly but nodded. "Yes," she told him with a shaking voice.

He smiled down at her and stroked her cheek lingeringly. "And would it be presumptuous of me to assume you were serious when you said you preferred the restrictions you felt you were under with me than to what you are used to?"

"Eric, you're gettin' at somethin' here…what is it?"

Before he could answer her, fear seized him. It stood out his mind how this could be the last embrace he had of hers if she didn't agree with his idea. He felt the strongest impulse to just back down, to say he hadn't been alluding to anything and to just continue on as they had up until that point. He didn't want to jeopardize what he had with her, and for what? A mere selfish whim…one born of love but all the more susceptible to damagingcriticism andrejection because of that.

But then…he'd admitted to himself, albeit reluctantly, that he loved her. He acknowledged that he wanted her by his side, but happy there. He had decided, previously, to give her a choice – he wouldn't make an ultimatum of it, and he would be able to take the disappointment (though not forever) if she declined so long as she didn't take that moment to end their relationship in a fit of fear. In the face of all adversity…his selfish whim demanded satisfaction; he had to at least _try_ to persuade her.

Still rigid with apprehension, he tilted her face further up to his and kissed her thoroughly. He could feel himself relax as she softened in his arms, melting into the embrace. He broke away from her suddenly, full of purpose again. "Anna-Marie," he started, "I'm going to request a very selfish, abrupt and drastic thing of you."

Her expression became serious, but not guarded. He couldn't think of words adequate to express his relief at that alone.

"Bear in mind," he said quickly, as though the idea had just come to mind, "I'm not making a demand of this – I won't expect all or nothing from my request. If you don't wish to comply, just tell me so and it won't cross any discussion between the two of us until you initiate it. If you find it too intimidating to accommodate, just tell me so…but please don't close up to me after this. I merely wish to pose it as a possibility…"

"Eric…" She smiled around her confusion. "What in the Sam-hill are ya talkin' about?"

He bit down, hard, on his anxiety. "Anna-Marie," he said calmly, "I want you to come to my side, to be with me – always."

"Ah…what d'ya mean?" She looked absolutely dumbfounded. "Leave the X-Men?"

Tensing, he took a deep breath. "Yes…that is partially what I'm asking you. I want you to come with me – leaving the X-Men is incidental in that." He captured her chin again and made her look at him. "I don't want you to be my lackey, or some other subservient inferior. I'm not attempting to make an Acolyte of you. I want you to be the one I can freely talk to, my _equal_…" He broke off here, remembering his decision to keep his affection for her quiet for the moment. "I want to give you the opportunities you don't have with Xavier. I want to help you with your powers, but not for my own benefit – if you fought alongside me it would be of your own decision, not out of obligation. I want you to feel free to ask anything, to request help when you need it – and you do need it, Anna-Marie; you've all but told me that." His arm tightened around her. "You shouldn't have to settle for what you can get with the Institute. You deserve so much more. You deserve to make your own decisions."

Rogue tried to pull away, suddenly furious. "An' _you_ think ya could give me 'more'?" she threw back, snarling. "The X-Men took me in despite _everythin'_…!"

"And they've given you nothing beyond that; they've kept you there by your need to fulfill an obligation to them," he reminded her, holding her tightly. "They haven't even offered you the slightest thing, despite your loyalty to them, despite your willingness to follow their orders…despite withholding any questions or criticisms about their commands – criticisms that _I know_ you indulge in privately." He refused to let her go, determined to hold her just long enough for her to understand. "My offer to you is one of power. I want to give you the chance to make your own life, on your own ideals and without interference. It is only a possibility – I told you I won't demand all or nothing. Nor do I expect an answer from you now," he told her. "I will give you ample time to make your decision and still remain with you in the meantime. If you refuse but don't wish to cease seeing me, we can still continue on as we have been…" He frowned, remembering something. "Though our meetings will be sparse, soon."

The girl stopped struggling at his last declaration – her eyes were wide but her scowl was still in place. "Wha'? Why?" she demanded.

His apprehension died away a little at the sight of her wide, perhaps fearful eyes and shocked expression – his heart felt as if it were swelling with her distress. "I offer you a month to make your decision, my dear, but after that time I will be an infrequent figure in your life," he said, purposely being vague.

"Why a month? What's happenin' after a month?"

"Surely the X-Men have been deliberating what I've been up to all this time? Why I've been so secretive and quiet?"

"Dammit, Eric…" He was moved beyond coherent speech to see her eyes become glassy with emotion as the anger on her face dissipated. "This is all too much. What's happenin'? Where are ya goin'?"

He soothed away her tears before they could spill over, gently stroking her back. "You may or may not be aware," he began, "that I compiled a new team of Acolytes – much bigger than the group you encountered two years ago at that warehouse. Most of them have been working on a dream of mine that I once thought impossible; creating a sanctuary for mutants to escape the brutality they live in with the humans. After careful deliberation, it was made starkly obvious that a mutant nation couldn't exist on any known continent…so our focus literally turned to the skies. An asteroid has been harness, pulled into orbit around Earth and made nearly inhabitable. Within a month is shall be complete. _That_ is where I am going; _that_ is where I intend to take you."

"An inhabitable asteroid?" she repeated, sounding somewhat incredulous.

"It's far more appealing than it sounds, I assure you," he told her, giving her a light smile. "The remaining Acolytes have been offering a place there to all the mutants they came into contact with. I was even going to make an offer, personally, to the X-Men. But consider, also," his tone turned defensive, "I have no intention of turning this peaceful nation into an army. The mutants inhabiting the asteroid may join the Acolytes if they wish, but they aren't obligated to. Just as you aren't."

"A mutant utopia, huh?" She gave an admittedly forced laugh and nestled her head against his shoulder. He relaxed entirely in relief – he didn't have an answer yet, but at least he had managed to shock her rage and indignation from her. "Sounds too good to be true, Eric. Ya gonna call it anythin'?"

"I dubbed it 'Avalon'," he told her. "But the Acolytes are calling it Asteroid M."

She laughed again and buried her face from view in the crook of his neck. "Sounds like a bad sci-fi movie come ta life," she said.

"I know," he told her ruefully. He ran a hand over her hair. "But I want to share it with you, all the same."

The girl wound her arms around his neck. "Ah can't decide _now_," she said heavily. "There's so much Ah have ta think about – the Professor, mah friends…"

"All I ask is that you think about the _possibility_ of coming with me," he reminded her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Consider me."

"Why, though?" She raised her head up, staring up at him with teary eyes. "Ah don't get why. Ah mean, ya gave me reasons, but only reasons why _Ah_ should wanna join _you_. Why d'ya want me with ya? Ya not the type ta just bring a girl along 'cause ya don't mind rollin' in the hay with her…"

He frowned at her choice of words and silenced her with a gentle touch over her lips. He hoped to God that she didn't consider their time together in such a crude and detestable manner. "You're right," he told her carefully. "I'm not the sort to do any such thing."

"Then why?" she asked again. Her stubborn frown was back. "What's goin' on, Eric?"

Magneto kissed her forehead, stalling. "Anna-Marie…that is a question I've been posing to myself for a while now." He paused and looked away from her. "I don't think I can answer 'why' I want you at my side, but it is my most fervent wish that you join me." He felt a rather novel sensation of guilt, but reminded himself that he hadn't lied to her – he _had_ been wondering why this had all happened, though he had yet to regret it; he didn't think he could tell her why he wanted her to be with him so badly, because he was afraid of what would happen.

She swiped at her tears and nodded, calming down. She seemed to accept his answer for the meantime, and showed it by shyly kissing him. But she didn't say anything.

"Am I too presumptuous, my dear?" he asked her suddenly, wary of her silence. "Was I wrong in supposing that you would consider my offer?"

"It's not that," she said quietly, nestling against his shoulder again.

"Then what is it?"

"Ah'm…afraid."

"Of what? Of me?"

"No…of _us_. This choice. _Me_." She paused. "Ah'm gonna have ta tell 'em. Mah team. About us, that is. Ah…Ah wanna know why they'd want me ta stay. Ah need ta know if they'd judge me for this."

He nodded. "I understand."

She gave a laugh and raised her head to look at him. All the sadness was gone thankfully gone from her look; she seemed playful now. "Eric, Ah've never known such a meddler in all mah life. Always tryin' ta change things…never leavin' somethin' well enough alone."

"I tried to abide by that old conservative slogan once – 'if it works, don't fix it'." He couldn't help giving her an amused smile. "And thanks to that I spent much of my time after my wife's death ignoring the problems of my children, pretending that I didn't feel the need to make more of myself, deluding myself that nothing was wrong and determined not to…let anyone get close to me again."

"That's horrible."

"Well, you can understand my determination to never let 'well enough alone' now, where there is room for improvement, can't you?"

"Sure…as much as Ah can _ever_ hope to understand ya." She dropped her head to rest on his chest, effectivelyhiding her confused and clouded eyesfrom him.

* * *

A/N: Biggest…chapter…EVER! Anyway, it's REVIEW TIME!

RogueBHS: I would really love to capture the Maximoff-Lensherr twins' reactions – I'd do it if there was any room for comedy here. But it just doesn't seem that Magneto would really fill them in on much (he's not going to win any parenting awards, except maybe in the Age of Apocalypse timeline when he and Rogue have a kid and he actually pays attention to it – shock!). And the startling revelation – while I think I probably wrote it in too soon, but meh – was indeed a fun moment to write. If anyone's so apt at lying that they can keep secrets from themselves, it's him! Anyway, thank you for the review and I hope you enjoyed this update!

ishandahalf: Holy simoleons, Batman! Yet another vast review! Your feedback is thorough and frank, though, so that's a good thing. Anyhoo…yes, I agree the Emma thing _was_ very creepy, but Xavier's a guy too! I'm sure even guys who're fast approaching eighty…oh, no. I'm just going to stop there. Though, as far as the comparative age differences between the two men and their paramours is concerned, the Professor is the elder of the two men and Magneto's kinda de-aged himself somewhat…so it's not quite so bad as the grandfatherly-figure secretly yearning for the White Queen (bleh, that sounds _really_ bad). Speaking of concerning, the 'Gambit Confrontation' (you're right; it deserves capitals) is fast approaching – there's still plenty of room for Rogue to back down from this gracefully and resume life as always, but it all hinges on Remy's capacity for understanding. I'm not sure if he's got that or not just yet…we'll see soon! I've been toying with some dialogue for that scene actually – it's all angst-a-plenty, to be sure. But right now, the easier option for Rogue _is_ running off with the Master of Magnetism, I agree. Ah, we'll see what happens. It's still poised to go either way; it just comes down to Remy. Well, thank you for the review and, before I forget…here's a teaser. Well, it's not actually a teaser, so much as it is a silly tidbit – '"Drake, either you put on some _goddamn pants_ or you're serving double Danger Room sessions!"'

N.M.C.L: Xavier probably _is_ a bit arrogant, isn't he? Well, I suppose that just comes with great power. I have to agree, though, with your hate of Jean's character – the ultimate Mary-Sue. It's excusable, in a sense; she _was_ their first female hero (in the comics, in her first appearance), and at that stage a female comic book fan would've been unheard of so they just constructed the perfect woman. I don't mind Cyclops so much, though…when he cuts loose he's pretty kick-ass. Anyhoo, I hope you enjoyed this little tidbit and thanks for the input!

willowaus: Glad you liked the Xavier and Magneto bit; it was damn fun to write, let me tell you. I love it whenever Magneto is made to feel small and wrong under the weight of the Professor's quiet yet meaningful insinuations. Don't you worry about Rogue, though – she's going to handle herself. Or, at least, she'll try. Hm…anyway, thank you for the review and I hope to hear from you again!

MarieSedai: Happy (Belated) Birthday for the 14th! Consider the last chapter my present. :) You know, though, since this chapter took so long to write, I don't think I _will_ be able to wrap this up in another four chapters. It'll be at least five, but probably six if the Gambit Confrontation (it deserves capitals, surely?) takes up much space. Oh…actually, this could take much longer than I though. Huh. Oh well, it'll just be a while before I end up writing my next fic. Thank you for the compliments re: my writing and also for saying that I prompted you to re-register. Whee! I get praise!


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I don't own 'em.

Author's Notes: Hmm! Things are just starting to get complicated (not to mention long-winded; I've had to extend my chapter estimate to about eleven now). Today's feature includes one of the last pieces of internal monologue and yet another momentous step forward. Rogue is walking home – it's three in the morning. Arriving back at the Institute, she walks right by her own room in determination and seats herself down…where?

Love it or shove it…

* * *

**Inappropriate Conduct**

Chapter Eight

* * *

The taxi pulled away from the curb, leaving Rogue alone amidst the tall oaks and maples. The moon shone faintly through the leaves, casting gloomy shadows on the rough asphalt path ahead of the girl; owls cooed to each other in the darkness; the wind stirred the trees softly, whispering through the branches. Something snapped to the right; there was a bird fluttering away on the left. Rogue paid all these things no attention whatsoever. She remained staring ahead of herself,. staring directly at the gates of the Institute – her destination; her home…though perhaps for not much longer.

As the light of the taxi's high-beams faded away down the road, Rogue finally roused herself and began to walk down the driveway. The security cameras zoned in on her, blinking through the darkness with what looked like tiny, sinister red eyes. The silhouettes of the trees, bare of their leaves in the autumn, looked like clawed hands. But then there was the soothing noise of the asphalt beneath her high heels – it broke through the dark and ominous ambience of her surroundings and assured her that she was the largest, most dangerous creature in the gloomy tonight.

With that petty fear assuaged, her mind drew her into far more pressing issues – chiefly, Magneto's offer. She'd be lying to herself if she said it wasn't tempting. How could it be anything else? He was, as far as she was aware, the only man who could touch her without something tangible and intrusive between them.

But that was hardly where her interest in his offer ended…

She had struggled against him furiously when he'd first put the idea to her – she'd tried her best to extract herself from his arms and leave, though not before delivering a loyal declaration to her team. But he'd held her down and elaborated on his wishes, and pointed out things that she'd long forgotten. Her obligation to the X-Men (one that had long ago been repaid, by anyone's standards); her criticisms of the lack of decisive action within the team to quell anti-mutant sentiments; the lack of output she received from them, despite her obvious need and her vast input. _They_ left her to cope with her powers…perhaps Magneto was right. Perhaps she deserved better than that.

But there was no doubt they cared for her – not even in the Danger Room was she left behind if she was injured – and their care was born of a respect and mutual belief. She loved them– yes, even Jean – like the big, dysfunctional family they all made up. Their idiosyncrasies and thoughts ran through her, after all, trapped in her mind forever despite the Professor's best efforts to purge them. She could never really let them go. They were literally a part of her. Regardless of the fact that sometimes she couldn't understand them, and more often than not they annoyed her to no end, she didn't know if she could bring herself to leave them. Especially when she would be leaving them for _Magneto_, the man who had once been her enemy as much as theirs.

That had changed, though.

Rogue hugged one arm around her middle as she punched in her access code at the gates. The enormous brass bars swung back and she continued her quiet journey through, looking appreciatively around Ororo's beautiful garden. Dew had already settled on the pristine green leaves, sparkling in the faint light of the moon through the darkness of the night; the closed flowers still held themselves up to what brightness they could find in the sky – they were illuminated in darker shades of their usually brilliant reds, yellows and whites to give the carefully-tended garden a soothing, calming feel. Rogue breathed in deep, momentarily distracted by the marvelous scents of the various plants and drawing a brief peace from their tranquility. Nonetheless, such a scene couldn't keep her mind away from her anxieties for long and she was promptly thrown back into her thoughts as her hand closed over the very stone balustrade that – just a handful of days ago – she had hung over, wheezing, as she warded off a panic attack.

The offer of _power_ that Magneto had put to her was more alluring than she could say. She had long since accepted that – as an X-Man – there wasn't a place for a commanding voice that was hot-headed, impatient and furious; she had contented herself with being a subordinate. She had accepted what help her team would give her, and was thankful for what control and space they allowed her, but now there was a better offer.

Magneto had told her plainly that he wouldn't make a underling of her; she wouldn't be an Acolyte, she would be his _equal_. To hear such a thing coming from a man whose power and command were both revered and frightening was…dizzying. And, as if that weren't enticing enough on its own, he had also expressed a wish to help her with her powers – not for his own benefit but for hers. Rogue had to wonder why, though. It occurred to her that perhaps the shield of his power between them was something of a chore, but that didn't seem right – he was supposed to be one of the most powerful mutants in existence; surely a little shield wouldn't exert him. Maybe, then, this was his way of ensuring that she was there for _him_ and not just for the sake of touch. That made a little more sense. The only other option was that perhaps he knew what control _of herself_ would mean to her; perhaps he was being considerate of her. But that idea stemmed into a whole other realm of thoughts that she identified as uncharted territory.

With a tense hand, Rogue quietly unlocked the front door and slipped inside, turning the latch behind her. The wide, cavernous foyer was empty and as she moved for the stairs the click, click of her shoes echoed and reverberated off of the walls, but she didn't pause in her journey to muffle the sounds – she had somewhere to be. Shaking slightly, though not sure why, Rogue reflected further to the most intriguing and strong argument in favor of her leaving the Institute as she alighted the stairs; it was perhaps the most persuasive point Magneto had made, yet it had been told to her accidentally, and it had little to do with power.

"'_I've only loved once before_'," she repeated, whispering through the darkness of the foyer as the stairs creaked and groaned under her feet.

Once she had given him the name of the man who had stood her up all those nights ago at that restaurant, he'd been jealous – he'd seemed content only when she'd told him it was definitely through between her and Gambit. Then he'd expressed to her, quite deliberately, that he had no intention to share her with anyone. He admitted to caring about her, then adding it was his 'most fervent wish' that she joined him. The idea these things pointed towards made her heart flutter like a trapped bird in a cage.

But why did she react like that?

Rogue bit down on her still-bruised lips, casting a glance about the hallway she stood in. There was no life there, but a wave of apprehension had struck her. She knew it had nothing to do with being found in the middle of the night, still disheveled (despite her best efforts to straighten herself out) like she was – her anxiety stemmed from a very obvious fact that she had been conveniently ignoring up until that night, whilst lying in his arms.

She had told him plainly when he asked that, yes, she cared for him. She clutched at him desperately when he'd told her about being separated from her when he left for Avalon. She'd felt ridiculously validated when he'd said that there was nothing more he wanted than for her to be with him, always. She…she cared about him, more than he could guess…more than she would tell. Her thoughtless heart had gone up without her again, attaching itself to another dangerous man…though this time taking care to see that this one was at least considerate of her. She gave a short, hysterical laugh and shook her head at herself.

God…what had happened?

This…this newfound affection had been conveniently shrouded by her panic over losing herself. While she'd been worried that Magneto had, without her realizing it, coaxed her old self back to the surface…_this_ had taken firm root in her heart. It was amazing that she had been able to ignore it this long – it felt as if her every bone had dissolved now that she had admitted it to herself. It scared her witless, but at the same time felt as if she were wrapped up in warmth and kept safe from her own fears. It was just as she had felt when Gambit had started paying attention to her, but she chose to ignore that fact and that name.

It went without saying that Magneto's offer wouldn't have been nearly so appealing if a part of her – a part of her that didn't value control and didn't care about what the X-Men did or didn't do – didn't want to be at his side just as eagerly as he wanted her there. If not for that part of her, she could have easily shrugged and said 'oh well'. If it wasn't for that irresponsible heart of hers, she could have just picked herself up and left with only the regret of being unable to feel physical intimacy once again. But it was too late to consider what 'could've been' and what 'should've been' – now was the time to consider his offer.

She padded down the hallway, the click of her high heels muffled against the long Chinese rug. She slowed at the door to her and Kitty's room, but then continued on. She had another destination in mind.

Day was already breaking outside and a faint glow of early sunlight was already breaking through the drapes – it was five-thirty according to the grandfather clock as she passed it by and opened the door to the Professor's study. Magneto had told her that Xavier had found them out, and how. He had recapped his meeting with his former friend to her, then he had suggested to her that perhaps Xavier was the first person she should talk to.

Rogue had agreed.

She left the door slightly ajar and reclined on the chaise lounge, trying to smooth out her dress and comb back errant strands of hair from her temples. The pillows at her back were inviting, but sleep was still out of the question. She had to ready herself; she had to be prepared with her own account of the events, with this new development – Magneto's offer. She had to be ready with the questions that burned in her mind – she had to know what Magneto _hadn't_ told her about his meeting with Xavier. She had to prepare herself for the inevitable confrontation with her team – with her family.

And so she waited.

As the grandfather clock chimed in the sixth hour of morning, the door was pushed further open. Rogue looked up – she had retrieved a book and tucked herself up on the chaise lounge again – to find Xavier and Storm entering the room.

"…The younger students have created very fanciful rumors out of that conversation, Charles," the regal woman was saying, her voice low and serious. "They have already spun a number of tales that I don't think either of them would appreciate to hear, especially since he seems to be…" She broke off abruptly to find Rogue, devoid of her usual mask as she had been last night and looking unusually startling in dark green, reclining on the chaise.

Rogue couldn't help but smile at the older woman's undisguised shock. "Mornin'," she drawled, her amusement thickening her brogue all the more than usual. She stood up with a flourish, snapped the book in her hands shut and re-shelved it. "Ah can come back later, if y'all have somethin' important ta talk 'bout."

Storm stared at her for a moment longer before looking down to Xavier, who was still silent. "I'll…see to breakfast," she said eventually. She gave Rogue one last look, before smiling slightly. "I'm glad to see you have forsaken that makeup you usually wear."

The girl gave the woman a wry grin, which held until the door clicked shut and she was left alone with Xavier. Then, abruptly, the smile faded as if she'd only just remembered her purpose there. "Mornin', Professor," she said gravely.

"Good morning, Rogue," was returned to her. Xavier wouldn't look at her, though – it seemed that the rising sun over the trees outside was more interesting to him. Rogue straightened, guilt lanced through her, but she refused to back down.

But as she opened her mouth to go on, she remembered that she didn't have the upper hand on this situation – she was the one who had wronged. She deflated slightly, slumping just a little. She couldn't carry an accusatory tone or hold a glare with an easy conscience, knowing that only _she_ was at fault this time. Still, she tried her best to hold herself with confidence – she clasped her hands at her front and kept her eyes on the man she'd come to regard as more like a benevolent uncle than a wealthy and perhaps eccentric instructor. But she couldn't for the life of her think of what to say, or how to begin. There was just so much that needed to be said.

Thankfully, Xavier spared her the embarrassment of starting the conversation. He sighed and gestured her to an armchair. "You've changed remarkably in such a short time, Rogue," he told her heavily as he assumed the place behind his desk and she sat across from him. "It is a change that has been long anticipated, and a change that is very welcome…but I can't say that I don't wish it were under different circumstances."

Rogue couldn't help but blush. "Ah've changed, Professor?" she asked, genuinely confused.

Xavier nodded. "You're quite different. A glance at you tells me that you aren't so irrational as you have been; you have gained a sense of confidence and uncovered a feeling of responsibility and maturity that was inevitable to come before your time, given the nature of your powers. Obviously, also, you are happier than you have been for years." The man paused for a moment, assessing his student carefully. "Glad as I am for you to have uncovered this much more optimistic persona, I cannot honestly understand or condone the manner in which you have found yourself."

The girl blushed brightly again, though this time with suppressed anger. "Ah didn't _find_ mahself," she corrected coldly. "Ah just stopped hidin'." She turned her face away and took a deep breath, willing herself to calm down.

"I see." Xavier paused again. "So you have been presenting a façade to us here at the Institute?"

Rogue closed her eyes. "It's not like that," she reasoned. "Ah was hidin' from _me_, not _you_. Ah used ta be happy, then there was all this stuff about a phony skin condition…Ah just ended up hidin'. It was easier ta go on like that after a while, even when Ah got comfortable here. No one wanted ta help me bring back the happy girl Ah was."

"Not even Gambit?"

She set her jaw. "He's tryin' ta find himself." She opened her eyes and looked back at the Professor. "He's not ready ta help someone else heal; he's still in pieces."

"And Eric is able to help you?"

"Ah was wonderin' when we'd stop dancin' 'round the issue an' just get to it," Rogue said quietly, but she didn't answer immediately. She exhaled slowly. "Eric isn't whole, but he's helped me. He's offerin' ta help me still." She bit her lip spasmodically. "D'ya know what he's been up to these months?"

"When I last saw his mind he was rather…occupied."

Rogue blushed furiously, incensed again. "That was low," she said angrily. "Ah didn't do this ta hurt anyone, and Ah know ya don't have much reason ta believe me but Ah didn't mean for things ta go like this. Ah broke up with Gambit the day after it all started; Ah've kept it secret so no one gets hurt. If _you_ didn't like ta go play hopscotch through people's heads, no one would've found out."

"Someone would have eventually gotten suspicious of your whereabouts," Xavier told her, leaning back in his wheelchair. "Some of the younger students overheard your argument with Gambit in the kitchen – Storm tells me they're spinning some very fanciful tales about what was said."

"Then that's _my_ problem," Rogue said, leaning forward and gripping the armrests of her chair. "Ya don't offer me help until Ah don't need it – that's the way it's always been. When Ah least need interference, someone always has ta go and stick their nose in." She pointed a long, green-tipped finger at Xavier. "No one even noticed that Ah was controlled by Mesmero an' wanderin' around like a zombie, but the minute Ah start actin' happy someone's gotta step up an' ruin it for me."

"_Are_ you happy? Does he make you happy?"

Rogue closed her eyes and looked away, clenching her teeth. "Ah don't know."

"I'm sorry?"

"Ah don't know!" She was up, out of her seat and pacing in an instant. "It's…not right…but one of the furthest things from my mind is the fact Ah can touch him. Ah…Ah started worryin' about the reasons Ah went along with him, an' then the reasons didn't matter anymore. Ah realized that Ah was comin' outta mah shell, an' it was all his doin'. Ah see him once more, an' suddenly Ah don't care. An'…now…" She stopped pacing immediately and sank back down into her seat. "It's all so confusin'."

"Especially from my point of view," Xavier told her, unable to keep from sounding amused.

Rogue gave a short laugh and rest her elbows on the arms of the chair, then buried her head in her hands. "Ah'm not makin' any sense," she said, more to herself than to him. She sighed heavily, then dropped her hands and looked up again. "He told me about the meetin' you two had."

"Oh? And what didn't he tell you?" Xavier asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

She mimicked the gesture. "Well, that's some of the reason Ah'm here. Ah wanna know what was left out."

"That's only 'some of the reason' for your presence here?"

"Ah've got more ta say…but Ah wanna get through this first."

Xavier nodded. "Very well. What _did_ he tell you?"

"About Emma Frost," she said quietly, reduced once again to being meek and quiet. "About ya warnin' him."

"Did he tell you what I warned him about, or why Emma Frost was brought up?"

"No…he got vague, like he does. _You_ probably know it better than Ah do – he pretends ta answer but doesn't really _say_ anything." She rolled her eyes.

"I didn't expect he would divulge that information willingly…not without severe cross-examination. I expect out of sheer frustration with him, you might end up quite the interrogator one day." Xavier paused for a moment, taking the time to slowly lean forward as though he were studying her closely. "I warned him to be cautious of you, Rogue." He smiled slightly at her widening eyes. "It sounds as if I was cautioning the wrong person, doesn't it? One would have expected me to caution you, which I fully intended to do…but if Eric told you about Miss Frost, undoubtedly you know that I have already trod out a path which he could very well be following to his demise."

The girl looked shocked. "Ah…Ah don't get it."

"Well, then…" Xavier smiled lightly, though his eyes flickered strangely. "Eric has undoubtedly told you that I fell in love with Miss Frost, am I correct?" When Rogue nodded, he went on. "She herself was entirely unaware, and had never made any attempt to ensnare me as she so accidentally did. When she discovered all, she was so confused and afraid that she fled the Institute. It was quite nearly the ruin of me, to have someone I fell so completely and blindly in love with run away." He paused and watched the girl across from him. "Do you see what I was cautioning him of now?"

Rogue couldn't have looked more surprised if he'd attacked her. "But…that can't be right. Eric wouldn't…"

"He wouldn't fall in love with you?" Xavier shook his head. "Rogue, you have spent much of your life under the impression that you were unworthy of love – a belief stemming from the limitation on intimacy that your powers gave. I'm sorry that I never personally offered to help you with this psychological trauma, but I can only assure you that you are as worthy as the next person to be the object of anyone's desires. And, that being said, I can imagine how you specifically appeal to Eric on a number of points." Xavier frowned to himself. "Gauging his reaction to our conversation earlier, I would wager that I was too late in my warning."

"He's never said he loves me."

"I daresay he's worried that you will become his Emma Frost – he was there to watch my self-destruction after she left." Xavier attempted a wan smile. "He is worried that in telling you now he will scare you away."

Rogue frowned. "But _you'd_ tell me? Ah know that he's the sworn enemy of the X-Men, but are ya goin' outta ya way ta make him miserable?"

Xavier bowed his head slightly and sighed. "A small part of me tells you these things because of that, yes, but I have my own reasons why…though they may be petty. Eric was the one to tell Miss Frost of my love for her and, thus, was the catalyst to my episode of severe depression. He didn't realize what he had done at the time, and I still don't believe he feels any responsibility or remorse for it." The Professor shook his head. "Whilst it all worked out for the better – and I'm certain that whatever became of Miss Frost, she would agree – I cannot help but remain spiteful. Though…" He raised his head to look at his student again. "I also tell you these things because when you communicated the nature of your obvious change to me…it seems that you are finding yourself in the same trap."

The girl quaked violently. "Love isn't a trap," she said quietly.

"Not with the right person, I'm certain. Do you love him, Rogue?"

She covered her face with her hands again. "Ah don't know," she whispered harshly.

When she looked up again, Xavier had come around the side of his desk to stop beside her. He took her hands in his, calming her. "Rogue," he said slowly, "I know that you didn't come here with the sole purpose of asking an explanation of my meeting with Eric. Nor would you merely wish to unburden your heart to me – I believe Kitty holds that office?" He smiled at her shaky laugh. "Then what brings you here?"

Rogue took a deep breath. "He asked me ta join him. Not as an Acolyte," she said slowly, "but as an equal – those were his words. He's been constructing this mutant nation, a place called Avalon – it's an inhabitable asteroid – an' he wants me ta go there with him."

Xavier was silent for a long while. "I see," he said finally.

Rogue blinked at him. "What?" She'd been expecting a severe interrogation at that admission, not silence and assent.

"There isn't much else that I can say, Rogue," Xavier reasoned, but he suddenly seemed tired. "Magneto had told me once of his wish to create a peaceful mutant nation – I wasn't sure if the dream would continue on when he turned his back on a peaceful solution. I didn't anticipate that he would have to nearly escape the orbit of the planet to create this utopia, though." He paused for a moment. "…I trust that it _is_ a peaceful nation? That was the original intent in Eric's plans, when I knew him as a friend."

"Yeah…that's what he told me, anyway." Rogue stared at the Professor in consternation – he was missing the point entirely.

The old man studied her for a moment longer. "Have you reached a decision?" he asked carefully.

Rogue exhaled, surprisingly glad to be on that track of conversation. "No. Ah have a month – Avalon's supposed ta be up and functional by then. There's still atmospheric generators ta back up and…oh…" She bit her bottom lip. "Um…apparently Forge is the technical genius behind this; he's an Acolyte now." She waited cautiously for Xavier's reaction, but the man was still stony-faced.

"An unfortunate loss," he said after a moment, clearly waiting for her to go on.

She sighed. "After a month passes, Eric's arrivin' at the gates here an'…well, that's when the truth will out. Ah make mah decision then. From there, Ah either leave with him or he goes alone."

Xavier regarded her closely. "You haven't made a decision one way or the other – there are factors that would keep you here, but just as many that would see you leave," he observed, to which she nodded again. "And you're here to attempt to make sense of you options." Again, she assented. He shook his head at her. "Rogue, I cannot help you with this decision. When all has been said and done, I am admittedly biased. Not only do I want to keep you with the X-Men, both for your safety and for the sake of the team, but as you now know I harbor a wish to see Magneto in the same misery he once led me into. Any advice I could give you would fall under suspicion of those prejudices and would be, consequently, disregarded."

"That's not true," Rogue returned. "Ah…Ah'd be suspicious, yeah, but Ah couldn't ever disregard any advice." She smiled just slightly. "Ah've spent too much time listenin' to ya to stop now."

The Professor returned her smile. "As heartening as that sentiment is, Rogue…it is quite obvious where I stand on this subject. As the founder of the X-Men, as the overseer of the Institute and as a teacher…all that inclines me towards you doesn't wish you to leave with Magneto. If you wished to depart from the team for any other reason I can honestly and without a doubt tell you that I would have supported you wholly and done anything to make the transition from here to your next destination as free from worry and stress as I could humanly manage, but this…" He shook his head. "For personal, professional and instinctual reasons…I cannot condone this."

Rogue nodded. "Ah know."

"And I have a feeling you knew that before you came here, as well," Xavier went on, looking slightly amused now despite the haggard look he'd taken on.

Again, Rogue nodded. "Sorta. Ah…figured that's what the answer would be. Still…" She sighed. "If nothin' else Ah owed a direct explanation to ya."

"Any debt you once owed the X-Men has been quit, Rogue, if it ever existed. I don't hold you here on an obligation – I would _never_ hold anyone here on an obligation." Xavier paused yet again. "So…the question that remains to be answered is whether you stayed here for so long out of a perceived obligation or a belief in the cause we uphold here."

"Ah'm too confused ta say right now," Rogue answered honestly. Her head drooped down; she studied her hands in her lap. "Ah've gotta think it all through…nothin' makes any sense ta me anymore. Ah…Ah start thinkin' ta mahself an' Ah don't…" She took in a deep breath and raised her head again. "Ah've got a month," she said, speaking to herself once again. She blinked, and focused on the Professor. "Um…could Ah ask a favor?"

"Of course."

"Ah…Ah don't wanna hide from the team anymore," she said lamely, looking away again. "Ah want 'em ta know."

Xavier seemed genuinely confused to hear that. "Why?" he asked.

"Ah…Ah never lied to 'em, an' Ah never said nothin' like this would never happen, but Ah feel like Ah've betrayed them an'…Ah'm sure they will too, but they deserve ta know the truth. If Ah leave, it effects them – if not…well, Ah don't want them ta hear from someone else or hear it too late, if it's all done with an' finished. They're…even if they're only there when Ah need ta be left alone, they were still _there_." Rogue bit her bottom lip viciously as, despite her best efforts to keep them down, tears gathered in her eyes. "Ah owe 'em the truth," she told him quietly. "But Ah can't face 'em now. Not with so much on mah mind, an'…" She broke off as her tears broke their bounds and slipped over her cheeks.

"Very well." Xavier nodded and, in a gesture of comfort, squeezed her hand. "I will address the matter with them quietly in the evening."

"Ya might as well tell 'em after breakfast…Ah won't be there." Rogue swiped at her tears quickly, carelessly, and got to her feet. "Thank ya, Professor."

"It's quite alright," Xavier told her. "But you won't be coming to breakfast?"

She blushed furiously. "Um…" She bit her lips together again and, despite the tears still hanging in her eyes, gave a slight laugh. "As bad as it sounds, Ah'm…kinda tired."

"I'm certain you didn't mean it to be a vulgarity," Xavier said, and he moved aside to let her pass through the study to the door and exit. "Very well…I shall see you sometime before the month is through, I should hope? You won't be avoiding the X-Men relentlessly?"

"No, no…Ah've gotta sort some things out with some people." She had opened the door and was paused there, nervously drumming her nails against the handle. "Ah just need the whole thing out, so that no one's kept in the dark an' Ah won't have ta deal with their surprise, just all the…disgust an' hurt." She gave a wry smile and disappeared around the door.

Xavier stayed where he was for a moment, staring at the space Rogue had now left empty. He had known from the minute he'd glimpsed into his old friend's head that this request for the girl to join him was inevitable, but he had to admit being mildly surprised that she was _considering_ Magneto's appeal. Xavier had – rashly, it seems – judged Rogue to be reasonably happy within the Institute; he had thought that she had focused her fierce, sometimes violent loyalty into the cause that he advocated. It seemed as though he had been wrong.

He leaned back in his chair and immersed himself in contemplation. Rogue had forged ties that only death could sever with a good few of his X-Men, but it mightn't be enough to hold her. She had left the Brotherhood due to betrayal – it was quite probable that another emotional upheaval could have her break off her ties with the Institute. If by the end of the month she had acknowledged and come to the realization that she was in love, she would leave. If she decided that her feelings for Magneto were a mere crush of sorts – perhaps even only a tumultuous churn of emotion, brought on by the sensation of touch – then she would stay.

Immoral and shameful ideas sprung to mind – planting suggestions in her head, keeping her mind focused on the guilt she felt and the like. His conscience, however, couldn't condone such a course of action. No – Rogue would leave or stay on her own accord; he would talk to her when she wished, expressing himself plainly on the situation, and he would encourage others to do the same, but that would be all.

There was a knock – one sharp thud – and the door opened. Xavier snapped out of his musing and looked up. Storm was back, peering in and expecting to find more than one occupant of the room. "Rogue has disappeared again?" she suggested, looking at him curiously.

"In a manner of speaking, yes – she is still in the Institute but she will not be joining us for breakfast," Xavier replied. He rubbed his forehead. "Speaking of which…has breakfast concluded yet?"

"Far from it." Storm pressed a hand to her mouth, suppressing a smile. "It is that subject that brings me back here, Charles. From what I can gather, Bobby made a point of freezing Kitty's dresser drawers shut this morning – she was forced to attend the table in her bathrobe. In retaliation, she phased his pants off and…well, it goes without saying that Bobby is so brazen that the absence of his jeans has made him all the more willing to walk about the room and display his underwear." She allowed herself a slight laugh. "Beast seems to find the situation as amusing as I do, though a number of others don't seem to find anything humorous about it…"

Surely enough, as Storm's voice trailed off, Wolverine's bark drowned out the hum of activity below – "Drake, you put on some _goddamn pants_ or you're serving double Danger Room sessions!"

Xavier smiled dryly. "One day, this team might just surprise me with civilized decorum over a meal," he said absently as he moved to leave the study and begin the impending confrontation.

* * *

A/N: The end approaches rapidly, like…oh, I don't know, something fast and stealthy. I was never much good at metaphors. Anyway, it's REVIEW TIME!

ishandahalf: Holy latent homosexuality, Batman! (Sorry, but since we started up with that Robin quoting thing I've wanted to say that…I always thought that kid was quietly lusting after his mentor. That's just my opinion. But anyway…) Huzzah for the incredibly vast review! Yes, I've made Magneto 74 years old – that would make him about thirteen when he was in the concentration camp, which feels about right; old enough to be sufficiently traumatized. I could've gone for a bit younger, but meh. Half of the outrage over their relationship is revolving around the age difference anyway, so I figure why not play up to that as much as possible? As for the Xavier debacle, I've tried to put a little more grandfatherly concern into his character this time around – he's not a soulless bastard, after all, so I can't write him as a cold strategist all the time, can I? Also, you're welcome for the identity crisis. :) I'll admit that I got a strange feeling writing Magneto's dialogue as he listed all of Remy's bad points. I mean…seriously, it's not like either of them are really a prize when you break it down, is it? Kind of like the pot calling the kettle dirty bottom. Regarding the kinetic shield a la Remy, that _would _be an incredibly dramatic twist, wouldn't it? But it kind of clashes with the picture that's about to be painted of him – by the time the Breakfast Confrontation begins I plan to have him alone, in a stupor and looking generally murderous at everyone, everything and himself. It hasn't crossed his mind to try win her back with touch, or – if it had – he'd dismissed it as trivial, in a way; he doesn't want her to go to him just because she wants to touch. By the way, you were right – in the first chapter Rogue _did_ tell Magneto who she was waiting for. I might have to edit that… Well, in closing, thank you for the huge-ass review and, of course…here's a preview:

N.M.C.L: Will Rogue leave? Woo boy, isn't _that_ the million-dollar question? I'm still not sure yet. It all really depends on the outcome of what's being hailed _the Gambit Confrontation_! Ha. Anyway, thank you for the review and I hope to hear from you again!

P.R. Howlett: Magneto of the movies is _hugely_ creepy. For me, the hollow look in Sir Ian McKellen's eyes alone make him creepy. Thank good gravy for the super soldier serum in the Evo series, otherwise I'd be envisioning the separate manifestations of Magneto as one and the same! Blech. Many thank yous for the praise, by the way – even if the fiction itself isn't to ones tastes, it's the mark of a good and just critic to be able to assess the writing technique independent of the plot. By the way, I hope to the heavens that you continue on with your fic. I just read what's there and I have to tell you, it's damn brilliant. Definitely a refreshing turn on most of the Marie/Logan fics I come across. Thanks for the review!

RogueBHS: You know, that one-shot idea is sitting at the side of my mind now – a mini-humor interlude. It's definitely worth a shot. Or I could always commission someone else to write it, as I suck badly at writing humor. I'd ask if you wanted to have a go at it, but I just checked your profile and you've got a projects on the up and going already. Well, the offer's there if you want it – I just wouldn't know where to start with a humor fic and it seems like you've already turned the idea over a few times already. :) Hm, though, about the baby thing. They're not being very careful at all, are they? Hm…maybe a baby? Probably not, unless there was a sequel. Which there might be, now that I get to thinking…in Avalon there's the New Acolytes, headed by Cortez and _he_ was the nasty bastard who betrayed Magneto in the original cartoons, so maybe…damn it, no! No plotting! I have to finish the first one before I churn out more! Gah! Damn imagination…well, hopefully the idea will stick with me. Anyway, thanks for the review, inspiration and input! I just have to go find me some scrap paper and a pen right now…

ExpectedAberrance: Thanks for citing the avoidance of angst. That will/would only happen in any fic of mine when there's something worth angst-ing over – nothing short of a considerable loss would break down Magneto, so unless Rogue severs ties with him or dies, then you're not going to see a whiny little bitch made out of him on _my_ watch! Ahem…anyway. As you can see, Rogue is far from being pushed away by Magneto's veiled declarations; on the contrary, it's helping her find out some things on her own. Still…nothing is decided yet. No, not even by me. We're all clueless together. Well, thank you for the review and I hope to hear from you again. By the way, you think your name makes for poor anagrams? Unless it's Tish or something, have a go with mine, Lia – unless I'm mistaken, the best I can get is 'Ail'. Nice, huh? Small wonder I chose this kitsch moniker of mine…

willowaus: Glad to hear you liked the Magneto internal monologue. I started out all awkward with his internal thoughts, but now he's just so much fun to write for! As for Rogue's final decision, I'm trying my best to not lean either way until the final chapter, but I'm finding myself kind of inclining towards the same way as you. Still, Rogue's got a lot of things to weigh up before anything definite comes out of this. You have to remember that Rogue never actually _asked_ for help from them (she'll end up taking this into account next chapter) because she's too proud and self-reliant to openly _seek_ help. Anyway, thankies for the feedback!

Elle Mooreside: Wouldn't that be two chapters for the price of one review? Or…bah, I don't know. Re: chapter six – I was wondering if I'd made Magneto realize that too soon, but meh. No one really seems to mind, so why should I worry? And re: chapter seven – good to see that the length of the chapter helped to procure its good quality, in your opinion. I may have gotten the dress/skirt thing wrong, you're right – I'd edit that, but I'm a lazy bum. Also, you're the first to notice it, so I'll just hope no one else does. :) And if they do…oh well. So _lazy_! Woo! By the way, I've only had the opportunity to skim your fic 'Night Moves' so far, but from what I've read it's great. Your take on Wanda is particularly singular – I've never read a fic where someone actually seems to realize that, yes, having lived in an insane asylum for the better part of her developing years, she wouldn't exactly be all up to date with social decorum and general interactive behaviors. Good stuff, good stuff.

Christina: Ah, nothing lets you know that you've done a good job like a review beginning with a string of expletives. :) Thank you for the praise, although I don't know if this would be the best fic available. There are definitely some things that could stand to be improved – for example, if I weren't such a lazy ass, I'd have pulled up a more original history for Mags, but…hey, it's tried and true I guess. Why deviate when you know the original works? Well, that's my lazy reasoning anyway. Well, as anticipated, here is the requested update! Hope to hear from you again, you ego-inflator you!

thriller: I used to love Romy to pieces, but then…well, let me explain myself. I started gaining an appreciation for Mystique's character in the comics, or at least for some of the things she said. One thing in particular that sold me on her was how she quite frequently and vocally told the world that her daughter is too good for the Cajun (because in her own weird way, she loves Rogue). Despite myself, I started agreeing – they just keep going around and around in circles, never getting over the same old issues. When I looked to other romantic interests in Rogue's past and found Magneto (and my initial cringing wore off), I began to explore the idea. Thus, this fic was born. I felt that Rogue needed an alternative in Evo, instead of just being forced on Gambit by writers who can't be stuffed to chalk out a new plotline for her. Anyway…that's just my two cents, and the reasoning behind my love of this pairing. Well…hopefully I haven't scared you off or come across as overbearing and opinionated. :) Hope to hear from you again, and thank you for the review.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I don't own 'em. How many times must I state this incredibly obvious fact?

Author's Notes: Well…how do you like _them_ apples? Hoo, boy. Things are getting dramatic now. The chapter estimation has been extended to twelve, for those who care – it sounds like a small number, but when you consider that I put in about five-to-six-thousand words apiece that's not too shabby.

For your enjoyment this evening, I bring tidings of shocked X-Men with breakfast, a quietly distraught Rogue and a somewhat angry, somewhat scared Kitty teamed up with a quietly disappointed Kurt with the question that everyone's been dying to hear confirmation of (or not)…we'll find out if Rogue _does_ actually love the Master of Magnetism! Love it or shove it!

* * *

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**Inappropriate Conduct**

Chapter Nine

* * *

The elevator doors slid aside.

Xavier hesitated before assuming his journey towards the kitchen. Storm followed him, quiet as a shadow though he could tell she was worried about the purposely blank expression he held and the tension in his every lineament. He realized she would know the cause – Rogue's appearance in his study; a thing so very uncommon, and so very uncharacteristic early in the morning. However, when the weather witch had asked him just what Rogue had said that had stuck him in such a way, he had told her that she would know only in due time; he would tell this only once, and she would have to wait until that time.

…Though now, as the two of them solemnly approached the boisterous noise emanating from the kitchens, Xavier found himself wanting to retreat back to his study and merely dissect a plan of action with the senior X-Men. Wasn't that what every leader did when his enemy poised to make a lethal strike?

Ororo pushed open the kitchen door, casting one last look at him before he wheeled by her. Xavier nodded to her by way of expressed thanks, then turned his eyes to the inhabitants of the room. He found that – just as he'd been told – Iceman was proudly walking about without anything to hide his shame but a pair of boxers; Kitty was now attempting to phase his pants _back_ _onto_ him whilst cringing; Wolverine had retreated behind a newspaper, determined to ignore the display though quite aware of it judging by the tick going in his right eye; Jean was attempting to calm Scott, who looked ready to obliterate his half-dressed teammate. Beast was lecturing Kurt on the lack of nutritional value of his sugar-frosted cereal, the New Recruits were engaged in a furtive battle of condiments and Cheerios and Gambit sat removed from it all, his elbows resting on the table edge as he stared furiously with unseeing eyes at the wall.

The noise began to subside as soon as he was noticed – the younger students immediately stopped their small food fight; Bobby grabbed his pants and pulled them on hastily; Kitty sat down and tried to look innocent. Scott stood up, frowning around his visor, noticing his mentor's expression. "Professor? Is something wrong?" Everyone but Gambit now turned to regard the X-Men's founder. Xavier looked at the Cajun for a moment, contemplative, before turning back to the grouped mass.

He cleared his throat, realizing belatedly that he was stalling for time. "Once you have all finished breakfast, I would like you to assemble in the dining room."

"The dining room?" Jean repeated. "We usually have briefings in the War Room…"

Xavier glanced about once again – this time even Gambit was watching him apprehensively. "Yes…but we don't usually encounter…complications, such as this one."

* * *

The dining room filled slowly.

Xavier watched from his end of the vast oak table as – whether solitary or grouped in small clusters – his X-Men began to file in. Storm and Beast had joined him first, each with a number of questions evidently on their tongues but Xavier had shaken his head, quelling their curiosity. Jean and Scott had followed soon after, both sitting down placidly, seemingly content to wait for the announcement despite the obvious reality that they were in the middle of speculating via the telepathic link they had forged. Kurt edged into the room next, looking slightly guilty-faced, along with Wolverine who cast a suspicious glance at Xavier. Kitty followed with the throng of younger students, all of them uncharacteristically quiet and cautious.

Last of all was Gambit.

As the Cajun sat, Xavier noticed him casting a glance at the only remaining vacant chair at the table – the space between Kurt and Gambit himself, which was usually occupied by Rogue. His mouth twisted oddly, but his expression was blank when he turned to face the Professor.

Xavier held the other man's stare for a moment, wondering how he would take the news. The entire Institute had heard about the conversation in the kitchen – courtesy of Jubilee, who'd heard everything after briefly leaving the Rec Room for a snack – and the rest of the debacle had been pieced together with what had been gathered between the younger students as Rogue had stormed from her room and out beyond the grounds of the Institute with Gambit trailing after her, imploring her to give their relationship another chance. He probably wasn't aware that one of the decisive factors in Rogue ending their relationship was the mysterious man she had spent the night with – the very same man that was causing so much speculation in amongst the inhabitants of the Institute. More than likely, Gambit was _also_ unaware that Rogue had forged a relationship with the man.

Certainly, not _one_ of the people in that room would be expecting the name 'Eric Lensherr' to be even remotely associated with that mystery figure.

Steeling himself for the impact, Xavier turned to watch each individual face for a second as he drew in a long breath. "I have been asked to divulge a…particularly difficult and confusing piece of information to you all," he began slowly. "I must admit that it wasn't just this morning that I was made aware of it, but neither have I been concealing this from you for long. Truth be it known, this is a fairly recent occurrence…one that has drawn some speculation and accumulated a number of rumors." Here he cast a look to Kitty and the younger recruits, who had the good decency to look ashamed of their reputed gossiping. "Needless to say from that, what I have to say concerns the only absent member of the team."

Some looked around to see who that absent member was. Others were more aware – Kurt straightened and looked stricken; Kitty's eyes widened; Gambit tensed and shifted in his seat.

Xavier leaned back in his wheelchair. "I won't go into the private details of the matter; I won't divulge the chronology of the events leading up to this occurrence. Doubtlessly, with what information there is that has been made readily available," he cast another chastising look at the gossipers, "the truth will be apparent with what little information I can give you." He looked away from all the curious, anxious eyes. "God only knows I never imagined I'd ever have to say anything of this sort at all."

A pause fell, momentarily.

"Rogue has begun a relationship with…" Xavier exhaled resignedly, and hung his head. "Magneto."

To his surprise, there was no burst of outrage – rather, the X-Men seemed to be frozen in shock. Five long seconds passed before anyone moved again. Kitty clamped a hand over her mouth and gave a strangled squeak; Scott fidgeted uncomfortably; a slow snarl spread over Wolverine's face. Remy's chair flung back as the Cajun shot to his feet, one fist slamming down on the antique table in front of him. All eyes turned to him.

"Wit'…she's wit' Magneto?" he bit out, his voice quiet despite the fury that contorted his features.

"I'm afraid so," Xavier replied carefully, while watching Gambit cautiously. The young man was red with ill-disguised rage, but he appeared to register that there was no use in unleashing that rage on anyone present. "The revelations don't end there, however." He frowned, shifting his view to address the X-Men as a whole again. "This…is a delicate situation to say the least…though at least I know, having spoken to both of them separately on the matter, _how_ things currently stand. Rogue is very confused right now; she's begun to question her motives, her loyalties, her very _self_. She's plainly expressed to me that she regrets her conduct because she is aware it would be viewed as a betrayal; other than that, she is content with the course of things currently." He paused again. "However, seeing as though the course of things has abruptly changed…so has her view. She wished for you all to know, first-hand, before she makes her decision."

"What decision would that be, Charles?" Beast spoke up.

For a moment, Xavier bowed his head and studied the armrest of his wheelchair. Magneto had once again thrown him into an uncomfortable situation, and – once again – Xavier was reduced to being a mere pawn of his former friend's boundless, ambitious whims. It was in that same sense, Rogue's part in the situation was somewhat diminished and she was absolved of any blame – she was a pawn as well, having been taken advantage of in an emotional stage and manipulated into her part. Despite any insight her powers gave her, she was still young and inexperienced and, even if he hadn't intended to, Magneto had definitely taken advantage of that.

Xavier just hoped that the X-Men could see that as well as he did.

He looked up again at the shocked and angry faces. "Cut off as we are from the general mutant community, I'm going to assume none of you are aware of the reason behind Magneto's inactivity of late." He cast a look at Wolverine as the man snorted. "Incidentally, it had nothing to do with Rogue. As I said earlier, this turn of events is rather recent – Magneto has been more or less absent from all our lives for some months now." He turned back to the table at whole. "He has – with the help of Forge, who has apparently joined the ranks of the Acolytes – constructed an exclusively mutant nation out of an asteroid. If this place, Avalon, follows any of the plans he drew up when I knew him, it is more than likely impossible to infiltrate without express authorization from the inside and would be heavily defended, but…the general idea behind it is that it would be a peaceful haven that the persecuted, the hunted and the genetically-apparent mutants can escape to."

"This doesn't sound…right," Scott put in. "Magneto's not the kind to hide somewhere, even if it's on an asteroid with an arsenal at his command. And…well, I can't presume as much as you, Professor, but I've never heard of him extending a helping hand to _anyone_ without an ulterior motive. How do you know that the mutants the wind up on this asteroid aren't going to be recruited into his Acolytes?"

"You're right, Scott," Xavier agreed, nodding to his protégé. "This move is somewhat inconsistent with what you are all used to in Magneto, though I can assure you that this has been a plan long in development and it isn't entirely against his nature – though he might find his Acolytes expanding in rank, he _does_ wish to provide shelter for mutants who need it, just as much as I do. I'm actually quite surprised that it's taken him this long to construct such a refuge, considering the persecution that mutants face currently."

"Enough of dis…" Gambit, having retrieved his chair and sat back down again, now clenched his fists on the table and glared at the Professor. "What's de decision Rogue has t' make? What's dis 'Avalon' got t' do…" He broke off abruptly, his eyes widening and then, just as quickly, narrowing.

Xavier nodded towards him. "Magneto has…has expressed a wish for Rogue to accompany him to Avalon, to become a permanent resident of the place."

There was a momentary pause.

"An'…" Gambit's fists clenched tighter and he looked down at the table in front of him. "An' she's _considerin'_ dis?" he demanded quietly.

Xavier paused for a moment longer. "As I said before, this turn of events has left Rogue very confused, and that confusion is only growing as time goes by." He looked away from the watching eyes of his X-Men. "Though it doesn't end there. I also mentioned before that I have had the chance to talk to both of them, alone, regarding the matter. Magneto has…complicated the matter, for want of a better way to say it. He has fallen in love with her."

Silence reigned once again, eventually broken by a quiet exclamation from Beast: "Oh my stars and garters…"

Xavier couldn't help but smile slightly at that. "It was…surprising to find this, to say the least. Naturally, with Magneto being who he is, he never said as much in words, but it was still fairly apparent how he felt. I also know, having spoken to Rogue about this matter, that he hasn't told her outright either. Nor do I think he will, until he is certain that he won't be rejected from her affections in turn." He spared a slightly sardonic look to them all. "His pride is very easily wounded, and I believe his late wife left him very cautious of matters of the heart besides. Nonetheless, Rogue is aware…though I don't believe she quite comprehends the concept as yet."

There was another pause. Xavier took the opportunity to gauge the reactions of those closest to Rogue so far. After all, it would be these few who would be designated with the task of talking to her; it was these few who would be trying to sway her decision in favor of the X-Men. These were the people she would listen to.

To his right and two seats down, Wolverine was clenching and unclenching his fists and a tic was going in his cheek, but it was hard to say what was on his mind until Xavier saw his eyes, clouded over with a conflicting clash of concern and anger. Beside him, Kurt's expressive face conveyed deep disappointment and despair, though it somehow appeared to be a self-reflective look. Across the table, Kitty was still holding her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide with shock and bright with heavy tears – the full impact of the revelation wasn't lost on her in the slightest manner.

And then there was Gambit.

The Cajun was shuddering under the weight of this information and its implications. His head was still bowed; his eyes were fixed on his hands in front of him on the table. His hair hung in the way of what could've been seen of his face, entirely obscuring him from inspection. Xavier could only guess what he made of the situation, not being one for invading his X-Men's privacy. It was quite apparent that Gambit had intended to repair his relationship with Rogue; it was obvious that he'd meant to give her space, to stand aside with the objective of approaching her again after she had cooled down enough to accept his apology. Despite his actions, of which Xavier was aware enough now, Gambit seemed to genuinely care about Rogue.

Perhaps…perhaps he even cared for her as Magneto did.

Xavier set his jaw and went on. "I don't pretend to know what prompted Magneto's response to Rogue; it is irrelevant, besides. I _can_ be certain, however, that I understand why Rogue herself is considering this offer – I understand that he expressly told her he didn't want her to become an Acolyte once on Avalon; he wants her to be his equal, not his subordinate. In short, though I wager it was never specifically said _in words_, Magneto has offered her commanding power and control. More than likely, he is aware just how much control, of any variety, means to her." He paused again. "Also, I can discern that while Rogue _knows_ she doesn't _comprehend_, exactly, that Magneto loves her."

"Wait…" Jean frowned slightly, looking about the table. "Should we…I mean to say, would it be a good idea to…_aid_ her comprehension? Should she be brought to understand?"

"That, Jean, is an interesting point to contemplate," Xavier acknowledged. "It depends on the outcome one desires of this turn of events; it also comes to a question of conscience. I'm going to assume that, despite this, Rogue would still be a welcome member of the X-Men if she refused to accompany Magneto to Avalon…_keeping in mind_," he stressed abruptly, looking at some of the younger students as they began to assume expression of indignation and uncertainty, "that neither person involved has divulged sensitive information to the other, nor did either one set out with the intention of _finding _any such intelligence. If this is indeed the case, and you wished Rogue to remain, you would stress the implications of Magneto's affections strongly and in the most negative light possible in an attempt to dissuade her from leaving for Avalon. For this, were she to remain here you would have to face your conscience on the matter whenever you were confronted with her – you would forever be questioning whether she would have remained with us if she hadn't realized so clearly what it meant for Magneto to love her. Under that concern, her loyalty would always be under criticism."

"So…we should just…let her go?" Scott interjected, disbelieving.

Xavier nodded, though he felt just as dissatisfied with his reply as everyone else seemed to. "This _isn't_ a carefully orchestrated attack against the X-Men," he stated clearly. "This is a confusing circumstance that even Magneto is lacking foresight and control in – a rare occurrence, I assure you. It isn't in our power to influence this decision of Rogue's one way or another. Nor is it our place to. We cannot force her to remain her, but we can tell her what we believe and how this effects us. She doesn't disregard the X-Men; it's her love for this closely-knit group that her hesitation stems from. If it weren't for her attachments here, she would have already left us for Magneto." Here, Kitty made another strangled noise behind her hands and began to cry. Xavier softened slightly and sighed. "What remains for us now is to speak with Rogue if she needs us, to help her through this confusing decision if she asks. Those of us closest to her will be the ultimate conclusion in this decision. It is their understanding that will either keep her here, and it is their anger that will push her away."

Yet again, there was disturbing quiet as Xavier's words hung in the air. Each person was looking unfocusedly at something – no two pairs of eyes met as the X-Men digested what they had just been told. Time ticked by slowly – it was probably close to being lunchtime by now, surely – as the ominous silence dominated the room.

"This is…unbelievable," Ororo said quietly, breaking the peace.

Kitty stood up, holding her arms resolutely at her sides and standing rigid-backed, like a soldier. Her eyes were still red, however, and her tears still fell freely down her pale cheeks. "Professor?" she said. She didn't seem to be able to focus her eyes and look at him. "Where's Rogue now?"

"She said she was retiring to her room. She may be asleep," Xavier replied.

"Right." Kitty nodded. Then she bit her lip – the warrior-like determination suddenly left her and her breathing hitched in her throat. "I can't go alone," she whispered, still not meeting any eyes in the room.

"I'll go vith you," Kurt told her. He stood up as well, moving as if in a trance. He came around the table, gently laid a hand on Kitty's shoulder and steered her away. "Ve vill talk to her first," he said, addressing the rest of the table in monotone. He turned his disturbing blank eyes to the Professor. "Are ve dismissed?"

Xavier nodded. The younger students stood up and fled the room, dodging around Kitty and Kurt as the pair slowly made their way to the foyer and, from there, to Rogue's room. Beast and Ororo were both watching Wolverine cautiously as he stood up and began to pace the length of the room. Jean and Scott both looked at each other before slowly getting to their feet, leaving the room via the door that connected the dining room and the kitchen. Lastly, unobserved by any save Xavier, Gambit passed a hand over his face and grit his teeth.

* * *

Rogue had drawn the curtains over her window with grim determination in an attempt to pretend that the day wasn't happening. Here – in the darkness, finally out of last night's outfit and safely tucked in her bed in her cozy flannel pajamas – she could close her eyes and make as if it were any other day in her life. For now, there was no dangerous mind games; there was no confusing emotions; there was no floods of overbearing guilt; there was no heart-wrenching decisions; there was no overwhelming feelings of selfishness. For now, she could listen to the chaos of breakfast below and contemplate tactics for taking down the bots in the Danger Room for her next scheduled session.

But the din of the morning meal below her died too quickly, reminding her sharply that her problems were very real. Right now, the X-Men were probably being informed of them in the detail and depth only a telepath could deliver. Rogue closed her eyes defiantly and tucked her bedsheets more snugly under her chin, defying the silence. She strained to hear even the slightest sound – a hint of the bedlam she was used to – but no such comforting racket came.

It was the loneliest silence she'd ever found herself in.

So she turned her head and watched the little digital alarm clock on her bedside table. Her hair, now held back in a ponytail, lumped at the nape of her neck on the pillow as she stared at the red-glowing thing, watching the minutes slowly, slowly pass by.

And it was while watching those digits that she noticed something that impacted on her like a kick to the stomach – the alarm clock was completely black, save for the glowing red numbers.

Rogue started violently, her green eyes going wide. Good God. _Gambit_.

Her insides felt as if they were shriveling. He was, inevitably, finding out her secret just as all the rest of the X-Men currently were…but, whether he sincerely cared about her or not, he'd be feeling it on an entirely different level to them. He'd _been_ feeling it, this betrayal, since there had been a secret for her to guard, before anything had even happened – emotionally – between her and Magneto, screwing up what should have just been a simple thing…an arrangement of mutual desire and unspoken trust. Rogue closed her eyes tightly, taking a deep breath. God…nothing was right anymore. Nothing.

It was all her fault.

Still, perhaps it wasn't too late. She was trying to right her wrongs – she was taking steps to confront this thing. She was revealing the secret…or, at least, she was getting someone else to do it. She smiled weakly at her own uncharacteristic cowardice, but went on contemplating. Maybe the X-Men wouldn't react as badly as she was thinking – maybe they'd even understand her confusion, and see that it was just a bad decision she had made without contemplating the results, which had catapulted into…this. Whatever _this_ was. Rogue sighed to herself and rolled over onto her left side, away from the alarm clock and the unbidden memory of Gambit.

Even if she still had a place with the X-Men after this – which was doubtful enough, the way she saw things – Gambit wouldn't ever forgive her. She'd forgiven him his past, but…it wasn't the same, was it? _This_ was a transgression between the two of them. He'd done the same thing to her – the very same lies and deceptions – and maybe even on more occasions than she was aware of…but _his_ indiscretions, she knew instinctively, were meaningless, faceless, and most certainly never featured an enemy of their common cause. _She_, on the other hand, hadn't just betrayed him _physically_ – now, she was still struggling to identify just _what_ she felt for Magneto, but it was far from the old resentment she used to tag him with. It was something…something…she didn't know where to begin with it.

Rogue shivered, though she was far from being cold. Nonetheless, she tightened her grip on her sheets and tried to bury herself further into them. She felt so childish burrowing like a scared little girl, but at the same time it was more comforting than anything she could think of.

But all the comfort she could create for herself fell away as a light, hesitant knock at the door broke through the deathly quiet she was surrounded in.

"Rogue?" It was Kitty – shaky-voiced and obviously on the verge of tears. Rogue closed her eyes as they began to sting.

God…not her. Not yet.

"Are you awake?"

She could already see her former roommate's red eyes, her blotchy cheeks. Too many times she'd seen the girl cry – when she got pushed around at school for being a mutant; when she accidentally hurt someone in the Danger Room; when her relationship with Avalanche had fallen through – and Rogue thought it hurt enough to just _watch_ her in misery; to be the cause of it would probably be physically debilitating. No one could stand up to the girl's tears – they were precise weapons; the sympathy they invoked was the wound.

"Kurt and I just wanna talk to you…can we come in?"

No…not Kurt as well. The blue German hadn't made a noise; Rogue knew what that meant. He was staring passively in front of himself, not _seeing_ anything – his face would be etched with hurt, and his eyes full of heart-wrenching, difficult questions. The only thing worse than Kitty's tears, to Rogue, was Nightcrawler's heavy-hearted disappointment, the quiet that would follow…and the hollowness she felt from it. It was a cruel gesture of fate – Karma, perhaps – that she had to face both of them at once.

But she _had_ to face them.

Rogue sat up and smoothed back her hair. "Come in," she croaked. Her voice was already scratchy with tears and she hadn't even caught sight of their stricken faces yet.

The door opened cautiously – Kitty peeked around it, squinting through the darkness before she flicked on a light. Rogue winced, but threw off her covers and swung her legs about to rest her feet on the ground. She resolutely squared her shoulders, but found herself slumping before her former roommate and her brother had even passed the doorframe. She tried to tell herself that she could face them – she'd defeated the likes of Apocalypse, damn it – but it didn't seem to hold as Kitty slipped through the door – just as red-eyed and pale-faced as Rogue had predicted – to let Kurt through.

The two stared at her from the opposite end of the room. Just as Rogue had estimated, Kurt's hollow stare pierced right through her as Kitty's free-falling tears made her insides clench. She closed her eyes, her resolve slipping away entirely as her eyes burned. Cold wetness alighted her cheek; she was crying. God, she'd be some kind of monster if she didn't – just the presence of these two…!

There was a slight impression on the bed either side of her; before Rogue could open her eyes again completely, Kurt had his arms around her shoulders on her left and Kitty was hugging her pillow on her right. She looked at them individually from where she sat between them – her heart rushed up into her throat and threatened to choke her. She gave a strangled hiccup and let her guilty tears fall. "Oh Gawd," she whispered, shaking her head as Kurt gently pulled her to rest her forehead on his shoulder. "Oh…_Gawd_. Ah'm so sorry Ah did this to ya…Ah'm so _sorry_…"

Once again, as it had in the past and would continue to do so in the future, the English language failed to be adequate to express just what was on each individual's conscience as the three of them fought private, silent battles with their confusion and fear. Kitty started shaking her head, her reddened eyes wide. "It's not your fault!" she insisted, her voice high and strained. "It's not your fault!" She squished the pillow tighter around her middle, still shaking her head.

"She's right, Rogue," Kurt added quietly, now raising a three-fingered hand to rest on the top of Rogue's head. He was speaking in a voice distinctly reserved for occasions that left him without any of his usual bright cheeriness and humor – it made Rogue feel very small in a way, since this voice was now the one he often used whenever confronted by their lackluster mother; it was a voice heavy with resignation and hard with pain. "Ve…understand zhe problem. Ve know vhy you vould vant to go."

"Ah don't _want_ to," Rogue insisted to the weave of her brother's shirt. "Ah don't…Ah just… Ah just don't get…Ah don't know what _wrong_ with me…"

"It's not your fault," Kitty insisted again as she fumbled for a tissue on the bedside table, scrubbing at her drying tears with her sleeve as she did and still hugging the pillow to her stomach. "It's not!"

"Ah shouldn't have…have gone with him when Gambit stood me up," Rogue whispered. "Shouldn't have let it go on. Should've just…" She drew in another shaky breath and shook her head.

Kurt pulled her away from his shoulder, still looking hollow but at least it seemed as if he could _see_ her now. "Ve all make bad decisions, Rogue." His monotone voice was clearing – there was some emotion in his face now, which spoke volumes of concern and worry…and _not_ hate or disgust. Rogue couldn't help but feel hugely comforted in the compassionate change, however slight and almost unperceivable it was. "Ve all attach ourselves to people who don't deserve us," he went on, giving her the best reassuring smile he could. His eyes momentarily adopted a far-away look – Mystique was haunting his consciousness again – before he returned his focus back to his sister. "It's a part of being human…it's something you have to live vith as an emotional creature."

"Ah just seem ta attach mahself ta the wrong people in the worst way, huh?" She gave a choked laugh and quickly swiped at her blotchy face.

Kurt reached over for the tissues and sat them in Rogue's lap. Both of the younger mutants waited for Rogue to settle herself and start breathing evenly again. All three sat on the bed placidly, though both Kitty and Rogue were still red in the face. Kurt, on the other hand, looked a little more relaxed. Rogue couldn't figure out why he'd wound down, though. Perhaps he'd been worried that she was just going to shut them out, like they were accustomed to, and only give them vague answers to their questions. They'd obviously thought that she was looking for an escape route out of the Institute – evidenced in the look of resignation that Kurt had worn just moments ago, and the scared expression that Kitty _still_ wore. It could just be a simple situation, where – now realizing that she didn't know _what_ she wanted – Kurt's only remaining problem was the shock, the indignation and the hurt associated with the subject.

In any case, Rogue couldn't bring herself to ask them anything. _They_ were the ones with the more pressing questions. Kitty was obviously bursting to say something, twisting the corner of the pillow as the puffy thing sat on her lap – finally released from the death-grip she'd held it in. All she'd said since she entered the room were words of panicked reassurance. There was something else on her mind that seemed infinitely more important; she chewed her bottom lip and stared at Rogue with those wide, scared eyes. She sniffed and looked down at the tissue in her hands. "Rogue?" she ventured quietly, not looking up. "I just want to know…it's not…I mean…" She winced at herself and looked up, drawing in a breath. "Do you love him?"

Rogue stared at the younger girl with surprised, puffy eyes. "Huh?"

Kitty caught eyes with Kurt over Rogue's shoulder and turned her head away quickly, looking like a frightened rabbit. "It's not my business," she went on, still speaking in a hushed whisper. "I mean…it's just, I don't know. I want to know, if you'd tell me. If you'd tell _us_." She gave a convulsive smile to Kurt, who – when Rogue turned to look at him – was shocked rigid with apprehension and fear.

"Love?" Rogue's stomach pitched oddly. She frowned at herself and looked at her feet, trying to form an honest answer with what little she knew of herself now. Up until a short while ago, she hadn't known Magneto at all except as a dangerous enemy and, before that, an unseen and non-invasive commander while she was in the Brotherhood. Their relationship, as it stood now, had been built upon a foundation of understanding, not emotion; it had just been an arrangement of a mutual need for physical release. Rogue, for one, was only _just_ beginning to realize the emotional potential of intimacy – touch was still caught up with power and domination in her head. There was no room for love to spontaneously bloom on a foundation of power, need and trust, was there?

But she couldn't deny that things _had_ changed, somehow. One way or another, emotions had come into play in the situation…the question that stemmed from that was 'how'? Perhaps there _was _room for higher emotion to reach her, with _trust_ as a base? Trust wasn't just a state of mind, it _was_ an emotion…it had to be – from the very first instance, their unemotional arrangement had been poisoned with that unassuming sentiment. Trust, as a compassionate emotion, could have given way to something else. Maybe it had given way to love. It had certainly poisoned the unemotional aspect of their relationship – maybe it had provoked stronger feelings than itself. It could be possible. Maybe it had happened. Certainly, _something_ had happened. She knew she held him in a different light than before; she cared for him…substantially cared for him. Was that all? Was it mere platonic love? Could it be something _higher_?

Rogue looked up again, frowning across the room at the closed door.

She tried to look at it objectively – she ran over the things in her mind that could give her a hint. She had no idea what love was supposed to feel like, but she assumed she hadn't been in love before, not even with Gambit. The Cajun had stirred something in her, something that made her skin heat up, her limbs turn to liquid and her eyes cloud over despite all that had happened between them…but she wouldn't call it 'love'. They had a passion – a deep passion, a passion that was intense and had wound itself into her heart, in a way – but it didn't feel…detrimental enough. It didn't feel as though her world was concentrated in it.

Could she say the same about Magneto? His actions had swept over her stable life, wrecking everything that she held herself upon and building up something…something that was suited to _him_. Rogue's mouth twisted slightly – the words 'manipulative bastard' sat on her tongue – but she found she didn't really care. He'd taken control of her, entirely, without even meaning to – she knew for a fact that he hadn't set out to seduce her with any dark purpose on his mind, other than…what had come to pass on the first night. From there, amidst all the confusion…

"Oh, Gawd," she whispered in something close to horror. She clutched the box of tissues on her lap convulsively. "Ah…_am_ in love." It _was_ love that she felt – it had been _right there_, with all the changes around the two of them. Everything seemed to fall into place under that idea – the way she had ignored her initial guilt; her motivation to continue seeing him, even when she started to get horribly scared of him for bringing her back to her old self…it was all pointing to one conclusion. She screwed up her eyes tightly and shook her head in denial. "Ah can't be in love," she said, speaking to herself alone as much as she did to the gaping-mouthed Kurt and the shaking Kitty. "Not with _him_." How could she have fallen in love with _Magneto_? He'd tried to kill her, on quite a few separate occasions; he stood for everything that she fought against…but did she believe in what she fought for? Or was she only with the X-Men to keep herself from finding a disturbing truth? Perhaps she _did_ believe in mutant supremacy, but had been ignoring it? She certainly had a knack for ignoring things currently…

She winced at herself. She had to stay on track here; she could question her motives later, but right now…she had other concerns.

"Ah can't be in love," she said to herself again.

Kitty gave a high-pitched squeak that was more than likely a failed attempt at a laugh. "You sound like you just found out you're pregnant to the guy," she jibed.

On Rogue's left, Kurt started violently. "You _aren't_ pregnant, are you?" he demanded, grabbing hold of his sister's shoulders again.

Rogue shook her head. "No…" She _shouldn't_ be pregnant, anyway. In the interest of keeping a controlling hand on her cycle, Rogue had begun taking the contraceptive pill as prescribed some time ago. "Ah'm just…_this_." She waved a limp hand at herself and shook her head. "How the hell did this happen?" she muttered weakly.

Kitty sighed on her right. "We're all kind of wondering that."

"Yeah." Rogue closed her eyes again and shook her head. "This is just…" She sighed, unable to finish. There were no _words_ for how surreal this whole situation was. Who could have expected it? Twisting a tissue in her lap, she looked at Kitty. "Y'all hate me for this, don't ya?"

"What?" Kitty's eyes widened to almost impossible proportions. "No!"

"Vhy do you think zhat?" Kurt asked, looking genuinely confused.

"If we hated you, we wouldn't _be_ here!" Kitty insisted, giving Rogue the smallest smile. "We care about you, Rogue – we're…trying to make sense of this whole situation and find out what _you _think. We're trying to figure out what _you_ want…maybe even find out what you think you're going to tell Magneto. We…I…" Kitty looked down and fiddled with the balled-up tissue in her hands. "I…want to know why you think you went with him in the first place. If it was just, you know, a thing about touch or…what."

Rogue took a deep breath. "Look…" she began, "Ah don't know why Ah did it. Ah don't know why Ah didn't stop it. Ta start with…well, Ah kinda felt that Ah couldn't." She ducked her head and bit her tongue, not wanting to admit that it had hardly crossed her mind, not once. "It just got outta hand. There's no reason why or how or…anythin'. It just _happened_." She looked between them again. "An'…the Professor prob'ly told ya that Ah'm not really…well, Ah don't really regret it happenin', but Ah _do_ regret hurtin' y'all."

Kurt shook his head at her. "Rogue, ve aren't…vell, we _are_ a little bit upset about the idea of you and…." He grimaced. "Look, if vhat the Professor said is all there is to it, zhen zhere is nothing to be sorry for, _mein Schwester_. As long as vhat happens between you and Magneto stays outside of your beliefs over zhe conflict – even if you…go, vith him – zhen…" He smiled his trademark, sheepish smile, with a hint of sadness in his eyes. "Zhere is no betrayal, Rogue. I can't speak for everyone, but I know zhat I don't distrust you, and neither does Kitty. It seems as if everyone else is…confused, for zhe most part." He sighed and looked at his feet. "I vant you to be happy, you know? You have to decide just vhat you vant…but I can't say I don't hope zhat you decide you vill be happier here."

* * *

Some time after Kitty and Kurt left, Rogue curled in her bed again and hugged her knees to her chest under the quilt. A constriction in her chest that she hadn't properly noticed before was lifted after having talked to them. _Two down_, she thought as a wry expression crossed her face. It was comforting to know where her brother and her closest friend stood on the whole issue – even if they hadn't been so understanding, she would have felt _some_ relief at having gotten their opinions, but their sympathy compassion made her feel slightly more better.

They'd left with a vague understanding of what she felt. It was enough for Rogue. She hadn't expected them to forgive her, in any case – what they could grasp of the situation was more than enough, with their forgiveness. Even considering that she knew how easily Kitty forgave people, it still meant a whole lot to receive express exoneration from her. Kurt, on the other hand, could hold a grudge for days, weeks…even months. It was certainly a mark of trust and compassion that he was already willing to face her, let alone forgive her for…this indiscretion. _Her_ forgiveness was soothing; _his_ forgiveness was inspiring.

…It made her feel as if there was still a place for her within the X-Men.

* * *

A/N: See? There's yet hope for Rogue to remain with the X-Men. Anyway, it's REVIEW TIME!

IvyZoe: I couldn't have Kitty flying off the handle, and with all the shocked reactions I was writing for Kurt he couldn't really just suddenly turn angry. This is a dark, difficult time in the Institute; it's a thing to address with sobriety and calm apprehension. I can tell you now, though, that the Gambit Confrontation isn't going to be nearly so easy and happy-sunshine-like. Angst-ahoy! It's only two chapters away now! Ta for the review, by the way. It's always fun to be appreciated.

N.M.C.L: Hm…it's possible that the good guys might win in the end, but it's equally as possible that they won't. It all hinges on Gambit, but I can tell you now that he's not going to beg! That Cajun's too damn proud to grovel:) The Logan-conversation might be interesting though. Here is the demanded update, with another set for posting in a week. Thanks for the review!

ishandahalf: Holy jailbait bondage-slave, Batman! (Ha! Come on…what else would happen in the Batcave, really?) That's yet another humongous review…not that I'm complaining, of course. Sorry, though, that my update schedule isn't wish-activated. It would be fun it if was, but I don't think the quality of the story would exactly maintain that way. Danke for the compliment on my internal monologues, and also thank you for the visual image of the X-Peeps just shrugging off the devastating news to get to the bottom of the pancake stack. "Oh, Rogue might be leaving us for Magneto, huh? How about that? Someone pass me the funny pages, thanks?" The traitorous-shunning-thing comes up next chapter – I felt that Rogue needed a compassionate shoulder to lean on (or two, as the case is) to give her _some_ reason to stay. Onto the getting-Xavier-to-tell bit – I feel that Evo-Rogue was made to be passive-aggressive. She speaks her mind just find and is pretty kickass when it counts, but whenever confrontation happens…watch that girl shrink and cringe with unease! The various reactions are coming – I only provided a small snippet here, and an elaboration on Kurt and Kitty alone. I have to have something to write about in the next few chapters, don't I:) But I slipped in an 'oh my stars and garters' from Beast already – _love that line_! I can promise you Wolverine-stubborn-anger for the next chapter. Unfortunately, it isn't finished yet so – unlike last time where I completely forgot to put in a teaser – there is no quote to pique your interest with. Many apologies. Thankies for the review!

Elle Mooreside: Xavier _does_ come across as a dirty old man, doesn't he? What kind of educator dresses his students up in spandex and leather, anyway? And the majority of them are underage! Ha! Ah, hilarity. By the way, I have to agree with your take on Wanda. Yes, she's angry – but she's not totally off-the-wall, right? A lack of social interaction growing up is all that's wrong with her. Poor Witchy. :) Anyway, thanks for the review. I shall endeavor to get back to your fic and review at some stage…providing my hunt for a new place of residence allows me the time…bah! Stupid real estate!

ExpectedAberrance: Oh, if all goes sour for the X-Men, there's going to be plenty of arrogant Cajun for you to hate in two chapters time. Also some Cyclops that you might want to strangle in passing, because – let's face it – when it comes to Magneto this boy doesn't see beyond the black and white. Regarding the anagram fun…hm. I was never good at these. Maybe there's a website that generates all the possible words to be made out of a name? I don't know. In any case, your moniker is clever, which is much more than many can say. Don't change a thing. Anyway, it was great to hear from you again. Thanks for the feedback!

thriller: I've actually been speaking my opinion quite loudly at a Evo forum called 'Why Romy?' – caters to both Romy-lovers and the critics. No, it's not my forum (so, no, this isn't a spot of blatant pimping), but I am a member. Whichever way you are inclined, come join the fun. By the way, regarding the Rogue-leaving dilemma…if she _does_ end up going I have a sequel-fic in mind. If she doesn't…well, it doesn't really work. It _could_ work without her leaving with ol' Mags, but there'd be gaping holes in the plot that only she could fill. Glad you liked the de-pants Bobby; I felt that someone else needed to be indecently exposed here, too. Who better:) Anyhoo, ta for the review and encouragement!

willowaus: It probably _would_ be hugely embarrassing to talk to Xavier about that, no matter _who_ you were! Blech. It's like having 'the talk' with your parents. But I felt it would be easier for Rogue to just tell one person – a person guaranteed to sit and listen to her, and help her make the right choices – than to blurt it out over breakfast in front of all the X-Men! Well, danke for the review.

RogueBHS: You're not going to enjoy Scott's reaction – just like that lousy writer in season 3 arranged, he's going to be either tactically avoiding her or getting really, really _pissed off_! Well, as you can see from this chapter, Kurt's semi-sympathetic, but as for the mystery that is Gambit…well, I'm still not sure how he's going to be. Anyway, re: the one-shot, I might give it a go. It all depends on how this one turns out – if Rogue leaves with Mags, then there's quite possibly going to be a sequel and I'll be too busy with that. If not, there could _still_ be a sequel but I'll have to edit the idea somewhat. Keep in mind that I _still_ haven't even decided how this is going to end. I'll know by the next time I update, but I won't be telling. :) Nyah! Anyhoo, thankies for the review! Hope you enjoyed this heapin' helpin' of update!

Christina: I like to think that the Professor's honesty about his stance on this whole shebang is a mark of respect and a sign of his acknowledgement for Rogue's capacity to make mature decisions for herself. Well, thank you for the review and here is the update requested – only a day after you sent your review! Talk about timing


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I don't own 'em.

A/N: Yes…like a bad case of herpes, _I'M BACK_! Just when you thought it was safe, here I am again with this little monstrosity – the one-shot that got way out of hand. Sorry to those who are actually following this fic along, though…I do have a very reasonable excuse for my overdue update. You see, I've battled along for the past few months between enrollment procedures at my uni, and also was heaped with the single-handed task of finding a house within the price-range of three miserably poor students. That's all good now, however. Still don't have a job, though…but that just means more time for me to waste with this, right?

Take consolation in the fact that the Gambit Confrontation scene is only one chapter away. Yes, we're almost at the end. Now, love it or shove it.

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Inappropriate Conduct

Chapter Ten

* * *

Two weeks passed fairly uneventfully after the secret was revealed.

That wasn't to say that the whole situation was forgotten, swept under the rug. Far from it. Tension was at a record height – every occupant of the Institute seemed wired and tense, watching Rogue with a myriad of emotions in their eyes. The youngest students would whisper amongst themselves if they were grouped together, or stare at her in unabashed horror if they found themselves alone with her. Storm treated the pariah no differently, though her voice seemed to be pitched slightly higher than usual when she spoke to Rogue. Beast couldn't talk to her – he stumbled over words whenever he addressed her, and always eventually gave up any attempts at conversation with her at all. These were all expected reactions, though. Rogue would have found it unnerving if they'd been looking at her any other way. And while those reactions hurt her on a number of levels, it was the reactions of the remaining few that hurt her most.

Kitty and Kurt, with their initial worries set aside, were the only ones who would talk to Rogue openly. The conversation, however, was always kept clear of the choice she faced. Initially she hadn't been sure whether or not that was a good thing or bad, but with the rest of the Institute staring at her as if she were a lab rat with an ear on its back she was beginning to value their friendship more than ever.

Of Gambit, there was neither hide nor hair to be seen – he'd left on the day of the announcement, but not before sticking a post-it to the fridge that cited a date of return; three weeks from the day. Rogue wasn't sure what to expect when he returned, but she felt remarkably uncomfortable every time she looked at the fridge. She couldn't help but notice the deep-pressed writing, the hasty scribble it formed on that note. He was angry – there was no question of that.

Cyclops and Jean…well, Rogue had expected _something_ from them. She had braced herself for a lecture of some sorts – she'd received nothing. Jean, when alone, would stare at Rogue as if she were a book in small print and was hard to read. With Scott, Jean would keep her eyes anywhere but on the resident black sheep. Scott, on the other hand, made a point of watching Rogue no matter if he were alone or with a group of others. It was impossible to know what he was thinking, with his glasses or visor always obscuring his eyes. His mouth, though, was set in a thin line whenever she was in the room – that single gesture spoke volumes of disappointment and contempt. The rest of his face was kept unemotionally blank. Needless to say, he didn't believe that she and Magneto had refrained from discussing, in-depth, the X-Men's security protocols and their progress both on-field and in Danger Room sessions – he had already crossed her out of mind as a traitor.

Lastly…there was Wolverine, who wouldn't even look at her.

If she sat down in a room, he would get up and leave it; if they passed in a hallway, he would stare at the light fixtures on the wall and pretend not to notice her; if she opened her mouth to say something, he would find a way to immerse himself in some other activity and not listen; if she asked for the peas over the dinner table, he would pretend not to hear her and Kurt would end up passing them instead.

It was an understatement to say that his determined avoidance of her merely hurt. Rogue could stand the silent, furious stare of Cyclops; she could ignore the scrutinizing, slightly frightened look of Jean; she could handle the hasty whispers and outright horror of the younger students; she was even secretly relieved that Gambit had disappeared to some undisclosed location and pushed back their confrontation for another week…but she couldn't bear this. She felt as though she'd suddenly ceased to exist.

After her initial sadness had worn off, her natural reaction to Wolverine's determined evasion was indignation. After a while more, she was blindly, furiously angry. It came on her suddenly…in actual fact, she'd been in the bathroom, drying her hair when this raging fury had enveloped her, bubbling up out of her annoyance. It had built as she pulled a brush through her half-dried tangles. A pent-up scream was rising in her throat by the time she had knotted her hair back in a ponytail. She couldn't understand it…it made no sense! Wolverine didn't _avoid_ things, for God's sakes! This wasn't like the ordeal they suffered with Apocalypse – it was no where near as detrimental or ominous – and he sure as hell hadn't tried to pretend _that_ wasn't happening!

Her mind told her that he was disappointed with her, probably. Ordinarily, Rogue would have deflated quickly and conceded that she was in the wrong…but why should _she_ feel guilty? This was the first selfish, spontaneous thing she'd _ever_ done while in Xavier's Institute, and it made her _happy_! Wasn't she _allowed_ to be _happy_?

With a grimace at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, Rogue stormed out into the hallway and made a beeline for the Danger Room. She had to face Wolverine sometime, sure…but she was irrational when she was angry; she knew that much. She had to work off some steam.

* * *

Rogue's confrontation with Wolverine managed to be put off halfway into the week; Gambit was due to come back in two days. She wanted to get through at least this _one_ talk before she had to face Remy, but even as her anger stirred her into seeking out her mentor there was something else that held her back from putting a real effort into it.

Guilt.

Yes, it was still there and now with more force, gnawing away at her so that she couldn't escape it for even the slightest moment and find peace. No happy thought, no bright memory could pierce through the gloom that settled around her. Conversation with Kurt and Kitty was clouded – their carefully concealed tension was becoming all the more apparent to her as the days went by. And there was no one else to find comfort from – the inhabitants of the Institute had all but closed off from her, just waiting for her to break away from them and become a part of their enemy's ranks. Thoughts of her terrifying affection for Magneto didn't help her, either, and – though she hadn't doubted what she felt once since she had admitted it – she found it odd that there was very little to comfort herself with in that love.

Though, it wasn't so surprising considering it was that very emotion which had her in such a position in the first place…

Sitting on the workbench in the garage, she snorted – a most unladylike sound, but in a most unladylike place, surrounded by drill bits, metal shavings and motor oil as she was. This was yet another half-hearted attempt to corner Wolverine; she knew that he could often be found in the garage, tuning up this or that, but it was just as likely she'd find him in the Danger Room, or talking quietly with Xavier, or in a pool hall just outside of the town. She'd picked the garage today, and stayed there, in the hopes that he would make his way down at some point. He wouldn't see her, at first – she could surprise him, corner him. If he showed up. If not, then…she'd camp out at the Danger Room tomorrow.

She began to fidget uncomfortably on the bench, her feet dangling over the edge in their scuffed-up Docs and her knees beginning to tingle with the beginnings of a bad case of pins-and-needles. She didn't know what to say, or how to begin. But getting started – getting him to speak to her at all – was probably the most difficult part, she'd reasoned with herself. And she had to stop being a chicken and finding excuses; she had to do this. She had to talk to the man at _some _point. She couldn't make a decision like this without the input of someone she spent so much time listening and looking up to.

Still, the impulse to run was strong.

But if she left…she'd regret it if she never even said 'bye' to him.

She scowled down at a drill bit and began pushing it around the bench with a gloved finger. Yes, 'if' she left. She was still no closer to making that decision – her choice was just as clear as it had been when the suggestion to leave had first been heaped on her. It would have been nice to at least be able to tell her mentor what _she_ thought of the whole situation, but it was…it was still so _surreal_. Every morning, now, she had to see the frightened faces of the younger students or the disappointed glare of Cyclops before she could believe that all that had transpired over the past weeks wasn't just some strange creation of her subconscious in her dreams.

When she was fully aware of it, though, she was caught in so many places. Guilt, of course, was predominant as long as she kept inside the Institute grounds. Despair hit her at odd times, as well – it was easy to see that the conflict would be far from over once she made her choice, whichever way she turned. If she remained with the X-Men, there would be hideous tension; they wouldn't trust her and she would more than likely wind up wishing she hadn't taken Magneto's offer. If she _did_ leave with Magneto, to Avalon, she would more than likely lapse into a pit of loneliness and self-pity that the Master of Magnetism would quickly become impatient with.

"Damned if ya do…" she muttered to herself, flicking a screw over the bench so that it scuttled noisily before it clinked against a wrench.

Hopefully, that could all be avoided by carefully weighing her options. Rogue reasoned that if she could find a way to be one-hundred percent sure in her decision then there would be debilitating anxieties to plague her later. She just had to assess her situation; she just had to be wary. There would be regrets, certainly, but not on the same level as what _could_ be.

Now…if only she could get people to _talk_ to her so she could actually weight up those options with impartial judgment and input from all angles…

As if prompted by her silent pleas, the door at the opposite end of the garage creaked open, cautiously. Light spilled in from the hallway beyond, but it didn't reach Rogue's corner. She froze, waiting, as a figure became discernable through the light. A short, wide figure. A figure that was topped by what could only be a cowboy hat.

Wolverine.

Rogue allowed herself a wry, faint smile. Here was a tiny victory – she'd cornered him, more or less.

As he fumbled for the light switch on the wall, slamming the door closed against the light that poured from the hallways of the Institute, cursing all the while, Rogue held her breath. He couldn't sense her so far – it would have to be difficult to pick up her scent from the opposite end of the garage, especially considering the lingering odors of oil, smoldering metal and burnt rubber that filled the air. But once the lights came on he'd see her.

She could only hope that he wouldn't turn and leave, again.

The lights overhead flickered to life and the garage was cast into luminescence. Every detail – the oil spots, the grit on the floor, the splinters swept into the corner – was visible to even the most unobservant eye under that harsh glare. Rogue drew in a deep breath, waiting, as Wolverine turned around.

His head lifted, and he stopped dead in his tracks.

Sure, his eyes were fixed on the garage doors – tightly shut against the natural brightness outside – but his peripheral vision had discovered the unwelcome presence; the very person he'd spent so much time avoiding. Rogue dropped her head in a brief, unpreventable show of guilt, before sliding off of the bench to land with a dull thud on her well-worn boots.

"Hi, stranger."

Wolverine straightened; his eyes narrowed. Rogue steeled herself, knowing what was coming. Anger. It was his natural response. "Ain't that my line?" he returned. His face had quickly warped into a snarl. This wasn't going to be at all easy.

Rogue recognized her safe avenue – agreement. "Ya right," she said quietly, nodding. She averted her eyes, but she kept herself from showing her guilt. "Ah'm not…Ah haven't been entirely honest."

"_Jesus_…"

"Ah never lied, though." She looked up at him again. "Ah just didn't say anythin'." She paused, but he didn't say anything – he just continued to stare furiously at her. Her heart sank a little. So much for 'just' confronting him. This wasn't getting any easier at all. It was almost as if her every word had to be caught individually and released carefully. "Look…Ah…" She closed her eyes, trying to block out the sight of him. "Ah didn't think. Ah got mahself in way over mah head…"

"Yeah. Good luck with that," was the cold reply.

She leaned back against the counter, her arms wrapping around her middle as she did. "Ah don't expect ya help, or ya sympathies. Ah don't expect ya understandin'. Ah just wanna explain mahself, alright? Hold off on condemnin' me until Ah've said mah piece, won't ya?"

Patience and her strategy to take the blame entirely worked; there was a scraping sound and, when Rogue opened her eyes again, Wolverine had pulled a stool from the nearest workbench and had sat down, arms crossed over his chest. The snarl had faded from his face, but it was still apparent that he was far from accepting this turn of events as given. "Well, kid?" he snapped. "You gonna say something, already?"

Rogue flinched.

* * *

Magneto was the first to admit that he wasn't a patient man. Nor was he trusting, as anyone could easily observe.

Alone – again – he paced the length of his study. The numerous books that had once lined the walls in their shelves were neatly and meticulously packed away: boxes of them stood at odd corners here and there, taped and ready to be shipped away. The sofas that had once sat by the window, and the coffee table that had accompanied them, were already in storage. The odd bookmarks, his spare reading glasses, the various journals that were often scattered around here and there were all absent as well. The room was devoid of all personal touches – well-worn volumes and empty coffee mugs; his favorite pen and the random manila folders – leaving the place feeling remarkably cold and lonely. He'd never noticed before just how heartening personal effects could be in a room.

Most of the compound was cleared out – this room was one of seven that still remained half-inhabited by him and a sparse few Acolytes…those who insisted on remaining with him, such as that determined young man Cortez and the bizarre, zealous Senyaka. These few stubbornly loyal followers were adamant that they would only leave for Avalon when _he_ did. Even so, since he wouldn't divulge just _what_ detained him, they were beginning to fidget. Some were beginning to grow insolent, asking for his reasons.

They received no indication, no hint of what held him to _terra firma_; their answers were cold, blunt replies that his motives were his own.

He would say, if asked by someone who already knew his motives, that he preferred to keep his private life away from his occupation, as it were. His Acolytes didn't require any knowledge of what he did when he wasn't a cold, direct commander. However, the actual fact of the matter was that he could only find himself feeling weak at the idea of admitting – to _anyone_, himself included – that he was deliberately waiting for Rogue's answer.

…Especially if she should choose to remain with the X-Men.

It would be one thing to deal with the pain of losing yet another love: it would be another entirely to suffer under pitying glances, hidden snickers and confused expressions. His followers wouldn't understand his reasons – they only knew him as an emotionless leader, seeking to carve out a real and comfortable place in the world for mutantkind. They more than likely hadn't considered that – old as he was – he wanted the companionship of a woman. They hadn't thought that he would have a heart, especially when considering how they knew he dispatched of traitors and enemies. They definitely wouldn't have begun assuming he would have found a companion in an enemy, and one so far from his own age. And, in the unlikely situation that they _had_ figured out his motives for lingering, they would begin to postulate the reasons why he hadn't simply told the woman in question of his intent, and that he would expect an answer as to whether or not she would accompany him when he next sought her out, at his own leisure.

_That_ was the Magneto they were used to, after all.

Other worries stemmed from here. Had Rogue realized how callous he could be? Had she heard of his more gruesome methods of extracting information and exacting punishment? Perhaps she had deduced his true motives for asking her to leave with him? Perhaps more falsified – and hopefully more undesirable – motives had been suggested to her by the X-Men; perhaps they had convinced her that he was using this ploy to recruit her as an Acolyte? Would she believe them, if that were the case? Or would she see the truth in his promises to her?

…Perhaps, worst of all, she had – in this time allocated to her for contemplation – found that what she felt for him wasn't strong enough to warrant leaving the X-Men?

Paranoia was forever grasping his mind; he knew, in some intrinsic way, that these worries were unfounded. He knew that Rogue, unabashedly honest when confused or angry as she was, would have told him quite plainly that she didn't care for him…should that be the case. Their last liaison – so very long ago, it seemed – held enough evidence of her affection; unfettered by their initial harsh restrictions, she had clung closer to him than ever and touched him more freely. She had _laughed_ with him; she had panicked when he had insinuated that their relationship would begin to dwindle due to sparse, limited trysts and a long distance between them; she had reluctantly left his side only when the approaching dawn couldn't be ignored any longer.

_However_…if she truly intended on leaving with him, wouldn't she have found a way to seek him out by now…?

_That_ was the only paranoid thought that couldn't be assuaged by Reason. He had no way of knowing whether it was a justifiable concept, save for arriving to demand an answer well before the assigned date and time. The only thing that kept him from doing so was the fear that perhaps his paranoid mind was correct. Perhaps she had weighted her options and found life with the X-Men was preferable – in its unchanging rigidity – to the unpredictable, uncertain future that she faced should she choose him and Avalon. After all, he had made no actual plans for her, as far as she was aware – could she turn her life over into his hands, and trust that he wouldn't misuse her or forget her? He had given her no assurances, either, so…

But surely, if she was as perceptive as her powers undoubtedly made her, she would have realized that he never made a decision that he didn't contemplate from every possibly angle, calculating every probable outcome. She had seen inside his mind – something that previously only Charles had done – and would be able to comprehend, if not understand and sympathize with, his logic. She would know his motives, his mode of operations. She would _have_ to know that he wouldn't merely act on a whim…well, not entirely. He was a strategist; she knew this.

Magneto finally stopped pacing and sat down heavily in his desk chair, glaring at the empty bookcases in front of him. He had to find some other occupation. This incessant worrying was depriving him of much-needed vitality. He was beginning to look his full seventy-three years again, for God's sakes. He had to stop analyzing this situation so damn much.

The fact of the matter was that he had to wait. As much as it irked him, there was no other option. He refused to cut Rogue's deadline to two weeks, when he had promised her a month – it would only damage his chances of leaving with her should he begin to act the dictator out of pure impatience and (though he refused to admit it aloud) carefully checked fear. He had promised to remain apart from her so that she could pick through what her teammates told her, in a concise and careful manner – he would honor that promise, despite his own internal conflict. At a later date she would have to deal with his unreasonable, demanding side…when she could accept it. Now wasn't the time to present his irrational, mistrustful persona.

Yes, he would have to remain patient – that was all there was to it, despite that it went against his very nature. Even if she was blind to the oddly compelling affection that he felt for her…even if his argument regarding the obligation that the X-Men held her to hadn't struck the chord he expected it to in her, and even if she felt that he couldn't offer her security and the chance to 'make a difference' (even if only as a passive peacekeeper, as she was used to)…his offer of power would tempt her.

If nothing else, there was _always_ power.

There was a sharp knock at the door. Magneto looked away from the bookshelves, glad to be interrupted for once – anything that kept his mind out of his paranoia was welcome, these days. "Enter," he told this diversion.

The door opened and there stood Cortez. "Lord Magneto," the redheaded man began, inclining his head in respect, "contact has finally been established between this base and Avalon. The command there awaits your orders for the week."

Magneto rose from his seat. "Very well." Cortez inclined his head once again, then turned back into the hallway beyond the door and strode away. Magneto moved around the desk, in no particular hurry, as his thoughts came back to where they had left off much to his disgust and dismay – he could assure himself from morning until night, but his paranoia was always there and it would continue to be so until he saw Rogue again.

* * *

"Ah'm not gonna explain _how_ or _why_ it happened, 'cause Ah don't understand 'how' mahself, an' the reason 'why' keeps changin'…"

"How the hell is that supposed to make sense?"

"It doesn't, Ah guess. But that's just what happens. There's just somethin' that…"

"Christ."

"_What_?"

"Do I wanna hear this part?"

Rogue closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She forgot how quickly her patience wore down when she talked with equally impatient people…even Wolverine. "Ah'm not gonna divulge any _sordid details_, if that's ya problem," she said with visible persistence. "Ah'm tryin' ta explain why Ah've done what Ah've done…an' why leavin' the Institute is somethin' Ah'm actually _considerin_'."

"You think I wanna hear that, either?"

_Smack_. She slammed her gloved hand down on the workbench behind her. "Dammit, Wolverine! If ya don't give a crap then why did ya sit ta listen? Ah'm tryin' ta work out a cornerstone decision in mah life here! If ya don't want a part in that, then we're _both_ wastin' our time here!"

Wolverine rose from the workbench stool he sat on, slowly. His infamous rage was evident on his face. "Sounds like you already made up your mind," he told her as his jaw set.

Rogue snorted humorlessly. "Everyone's makin' that decision for me, actually. Ah'm not really gettin' a say." She narrowed her eyes at the man. "Cyclops already has me crossed off as a teammate. Jean looks at me like Ah'm incomprehensible. Beast won't even _look_ at me. Xavier makes me feel like Ah'm walkin' on eggshells. Kitty an' Kurt look like they're gettin' ready ta say 'bye'. An' now _you_…" She pointed a long, gloved finger at him. "You're tellin' me quite clearly what the others just won't say – as ya do. Ah'm a traitor, aren't Ah? Ah'm scum. Ah'm gonna leave whether Ah want ta stay or not. No one wants ta hear mah reasons for considerin' this – no one wants ta try understand, 'cause it makes them _uncomfortable_. It makes them question their own position – what they'd do if they were me. It makes them wonder just _what_ it means ta have mah power, mah screwed-up background. It makes them feel weird, so they _avoid_ it!

"Everyone just _assumes_, too, that it's 'cause he can touch me." Rogue crossed her arms over her chest, looking disgusted. "As if Ah were that superficial. They don't even know _why_ he asked – they don't know _why_ Ah listened ta him. They don't know what's between us, but they think they've got all the damn facts. Well, it ain't like that! The ability ta touch wouldn't have me wantin' ta leave with him – even _Ah_ know that that alone isn't enough ta give up ya hopes and dreams for. There's more to it, but who cares! They _know_ there's more an' they avoid knowin'. It's just easier if Ah'm wrong an' they're right, isn't it? This way, Ah'm shallow an' stupid, Magneto's a manipulative villain an' the X-Men are still the righteous heroes. It's all black an' white, with no messy shades of grey. They don't have ta wonder just what it would take for them ta leave; they don't have ta start rethinkin' themselves, second-guessin' what they thought they knew…"

"So that's what you think yer doin'?" Wolverine cut in. "Re-evaluating yourself? Questionin' your motives?" He grimaced and shook his head, but his furious expression began to ease slightly. "What about him? His motives? He ain't a good person."

"That ain't strictly true," Rogue said, but she was calming down significantly. "He's not a monster."

Wolverine scrubbed a hand over his face and dropped back to his seat. "He's a killer."

"Pot, kettle?" Rogue raised an eyebrow, but made sure to keep any judgmental feeling out of her expression and tone.

"Yeah, but I live with that. Does he?"

"He doesn't beat himself up over it, if that's what ya mean. He has ta justify the death before he kills a person." Rogue began to absently twist a lock of her hair between her fingers. "He doesn't get a sick thrill out of it, if that's what ya wanna know."

"You sure?"

She tapped the side of her head. "Real sure."

Wolverine grunted. A silence fell between them for a moment. "They say Magneto's in love with you, kid."

"The Professor told me the same thing."

"An' what's ol' Buckethead say?"

"Ah've never asked; he's never told." She started tugging at the strand of hair she was twisting. "It's on mah list of things ta ask him, before Ah make mah decision."

"When do ya plan on askin', then?"

"When he comes ta hear mah choice."

"So you're leavin' it to the last minute?"

Rogue smiled wanly. "Just like how Ah always did mah homework." She shook her head, becoming serious again. "Ah'll have everythin' Ah need ta know ta make a good decision, once Ah've asked a few things of him."

"An' then?"

"Well…that's still undecided, isn't it?"

Wolverine nodded, seeming to accept this if nothing else. He was silent for a moment, looking uncomfortable. When he finally looked at her again, he just looked tired. "I want you ta stay, Stripes. I like havin' you around."

Rogue couldn't help but smile genuinely. "Ya know, no one else was that direct."

"You know me…I don't do that bullshit hundred-questions stuff." He rose up again and made his way over to her, leaning against the workbench as well. "Look, kid…I know you don't give a crap one way or the other what Cyke or Red think about you. You prob'ly mind a little that Beast can't even remember what a verb is in your presence, but I know you're waitin' for Gambit ta get back. You're waitin' ta hear what he thinks of all this." When she nodded, he snorted. "Whatever he says, don't listen to him."

She looked up at him in surprise. "What if he says ta stay?"

"I didn't mean do the opposite of what he says, kid. Just don't take him into account, alright?" He levered himself off of the workbench, picking up a wrench as he went. "You shoulda never given that guy the time of day."

Light dawned and Rogue's eyebrows almost disappeared into her hairline. "You think _he's_ ta blame for…this?"

"I get the feelin' it sure as hell wouldn't have happened if he'd just stayed in the goddamn Bayou."

Rogue blinked. "Prob'ly not, actually." She smiled slightly as Wolverine grunted again and popped the hood on one of the vans. "He's not ta blame, Mr. Logan. Ah'm the guilty party here."

"Don't think so." He disappeared from sight behind the upright hood of the van. "I know you, kid. You didn't come onto Magneto. It was the other way 'round."

She couldn't help but blush slightly, as her memories brought her back to that first night in verification. "True," she admitted. "But Ah could've said 'no'."

There was a noise of frustration and Wolverine glared at her around the car hood. "Y'see, this is the shit I don't wanna hear. I'm better off not knowin' where he got the idea you'd say 'yes'."

Rogue made a face. "Thank ya. Ah love havin' matters of mah personal life reduced ta some _sordid_…"

"_Kid_…"

"Alright, alright…" She sighed restlessly, but smiled. "So ya…don't hate me?"

"Havin' a heart just makes ya human." He disappeared around the hood again.

"Right." She bit her bottom lip, feeling a dam of relief break over her. Limbs that she hadn't even been aware held tension abruptly relaxed. Her smile widened. "Thank ya, Mr. Logan."

"Don't thank me, Stripes. I'm still gonna gut that sonofabitch if I can get close enough."

"Who? Magneto or Gambit?"

"Pick one."

* * *

A/N: Ha! X-Movie reference! Anyway, it's now REVIEW TIME!

N.M.C.L: I think Gambit could've stood to be angrier. Still, taking off for three weeks without any prior notice pretty much gives highlight to just how pissed off he is, no:) Hope you enjoyed the Wolverine/Rogue convo. I'm trying to give her a few allies here. She needs them, after all. I can't see Logan getting irreversibly, permanently mad with one of his favorites, so…yes. He's not happy, per se, but he doesn't hate her. Hope you enjoyed the update and thankies for the review.

ishandahalf: Holy further revelations, Batman! You liked the tension in the last one, you said – so how 'bout these apples? Just when you think he's going to hate her eternally, BAM! Semi-happies! As for the Gambit Confrontation (TM!)…it's a-comin'. Next chapter, actually…and I'm out of my writer's block bit, so it shouldn't be too far away. There are so many possibilities for it – him driving her away, him invoking deeper feelings for him in her, etc, etc. I'm twitchy with all the possibilities! But I know what I'm going to write…and, yes, it will pretty much cinch the whole decision for her. His opinion matters, I believe, because she feels so guilty – and it was her relationship with Gambit that first _inspired_ that guilt. So she's attached some importance to what he says. Anyway, that'll probably be discussed next chapter. Well, since I fell short of giving you a preview for the last two chapters, here's one rather long one now (note: this passage is subject to editing): "It's your decision, _chère_," he said, leaning against the doorframe casually but staring at her intently in a way that conveyed no expression at all. His hand clenched around the unlit cigarette, ruining it, but he didn't notice. "If I start tellin' y' what t' do, Ah'll loose y'. Can't do that."

thriller: I could probably pull together a sequel without Rogue leaving. Of course, Magneto would feature again and all these issues would arise much more…just in a more stressful environment – _WAR_! With the blood and the dieing and the hey-hey. Anyway…enough of that. The sequel probably _will_ arrive, now that this is coming to a close and I have my creative streak back. Seriously, how long as my writer's block been going on? A month? More? Well, enough of that. P.S: regarding your name, I like it just the way it is. Don't know why; I just do. There's my two cents. So, thank you for the review and I hope you enjoyed this latest installment!

willowaus: The moment of truth nears! Rogue's decision is two chapters away (I've already made up my mind on the outcome…but I'm not telling!). Next up, however, we have the Gambit Confrontation. There's a reaction we're all waiting for… Hopefully, I haven't lost you as a reader with my sub-par updating powers, so you'll be around to read it. :) I can also _almost_ guarantee you a sequel, too (hopefully I can update it more regularly…bleh). Anyway, thankies for the input – please feel free to review again!

Elle Mooreside: Soap opera, eh? I can see it. Rogue would then announce she is pregnant (despite the fact that I have her using birth control pills…), and that – somehow – Gambit is the father. Either Magneto or Gambit would then die, in some bizarre manner, only to reappear later down the track with some ridiculously circuitous story explaining his absence. Anyway…as you have just read, Wolvie is preparing to rip something to shreds – he's not particularly picky about the subject of this shredding, either – and Gambit is absent, blowing off some steam somehow, somewhere. But, I regret to inform…Bobby will continue to wear pants from now on. Thank you for the cinnamon buns, by the way – they were internetily delicious. :)

jdehn: Thank you! I'm particularly proud of my Xavier and Magneto portraying. The trick is to think like an old man. That's all there is to it. :) Tee hee! Anyway, thanks for the review. I hope you continue to read on…yes, come to the Dark Side. It's fun over here. There's a secret handshake and everything.

RogueBHS: I love the comics-Scott, but I just have something against this particular animated incarnate. I even liked the rod-up-the-butt Cyke from the 90's animated series more. There won't be any yelling from Scott to Rogue…but he might take it out on Magneto. Hm…that sounds like a good idea, actually. It makes some sense, too, because it's more likely that – even if a teammate 'betrayed' the X-Men – he'd still be more ready to vent his frustration and anger on the one who coaxed the aforementioned teammate to the Dark Side. Hm. Anyway, thanks for the feedback. Hope I haven't lost you as a reader with my lousy updating skills!

Pakkrat: You have one awesome name, I have to say. Anyway, back on topic. Yes, I'm familiar with the Age of Apocalypse – best alternative timeline _ever_, as far as I'm concerned! Marvel's attempting to revive it, too. Nice. Thank you for the compliments re: my writing abilities and thank you especially for calling me an artist! No one's ever called me that before! …I don't think. Well, my memory's like that of a goldfish, so they may very well have…but I don't think so. What was I say again:) Anyway, thanks for the review and I think I may just go and have a peek at your stories – if not all, than at least the Mague one!

Christina: Mm, I hope she goes with him too. :) Sorry for the lousy update-waiting period – I cite stress as my reason. Well, the update's here now, and I'm out of my writer's block funk. There's probably even going to be a sequel, if I can keep my happy creative thoughts flowing. Anyway, thankies for the review and feedback!

Green Envy: Yes, I did take my sweet ol' time updating, didn't I:) I'm dieing to see the conclusion up and posted, personally. So I can get to the sequel. Also, just so I can read it and either make myself sad if she doesn't go with him, or make myself happy if she does. I've made up my mind which choice she's making…but I can't tell! Must remain vague! Mwa ha ha ha ha ha! (Again, sorry for the gap between updates…)


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I don't own 'em.

A/N: Guess what, y'all? This fic has exceeded five-thousand hits. Not too bad, considering the pairing. Admittedly, half of those hits were for the first chapter. Hm. Still, it doesn't stack up too badly when you consider I've gotten over seventy reviews now. It's not a monumental number, but that's about seventy hits per review. Not too shabby, all things considered.

Anyway, here it comes! The long-awaited Gambit Confrontation™:) We finally get to hear Gambit's opinion about all this hooplah! Prepare for guilt, anger and tender feelings revisited! We'll find out why the Cajun took off (as if that weren't obvious), as well as just why Rogue needs to talk to him before she can comfortably make her final decision! And my author's notes will contain many exclamation marks! Wheeeee!

Love it or shove it.

* * *

**Inappropriate Conduct**

Chapter Eleven

* * *

Rogue sat at the breakfast bar, purposely ignoring the whispers behind her as the younger students ate – all of them seated at the kitchen table with their chairs as far away from her as was physically possible – while as she stared at the note on the 'fridge.

It was a small post-it note – the adhesive had already worn off and the note was now held up by a novelty souvenir that proclaimed 'My friend went to Egypt and all I got was this lousy magnet'. The blue-ink scrawl on it was cramped and rushed. It was also smudged in one corner, and the paper was bent at the middle. Rogue set her jaw at the thing, finding these humanistic touches to be more than a little guilt-compounding. She knew the scrawl, all too well, and the smudges indicated the haste with which the note had been written.

'Gone for a while. Be back on the 20th', it read.

That had been three weeks ago. It was now the twentieth.

Gambit would be returning today.

Rogue finally looked away from the refrigerator, down at the plate of waffles she'd been brooding over for half an hour now. Kitty had made them. She was getting better at cooking – that was to say, she didn't burn things that required only to be put in the toaster anymore. Rogue smiled slightly at the stone-cold food, before downing the rest of her coffee and getting up. She chucked the waffles in the trash compactor and set the dishes on the sink. The note didn't say _when_ Gambit would be coming back, and even though it was only morning she still had to prepare herself.

She had a lot to consider before she talked to him. On the one hand, he'd lost all right to have a say in her personal affairs – when he'd been given the privilege, well…look what had happened. Rogue couldn't help when her smile widened at that. Looks like Wolverine was right – Gambit _did_ have to shoulder some of the blame.

On the other hand, however, was Rogue's personal guilt. Their relationship had come to an end with this. It wasn't the cause, but it had been a catalyst. The cause was incompatibility, different expectations…Gambit's lack of control over his baser instincts, Rogue's own inability to touch…but this had been something of a cincher, for her. They had tried and tried and tried again, but it hadn't worked. But it worked with Magneto. Still, it felt…wrong to have just given up. To have opted for a relationship that was – in it's own way – easy and devoid of complications. Even now, if she said yes to Magneto, she could only imagine feeling complete simplicity and relief. That alone – the fact that she had chosen an easier option – kept her guilt hanging over her perpetually.

So she had to talk to Gambit. If only to assuage her guilt, to remind herself that nothing could have kept them together for the long run. To prove to herself that she would be doing the right thing, if she chose to leave.

She trudged up the stairs, making a beeline for her room. She'd read in her window seat until she saw him returning through the front gates. It was a definite course of action, anyway. It was much more guided and regulated than she was feeling now, as the center of a whirlwind of perpetual chaos. She rolled her eyes at herself as she slipped into her room, closing the door behind her.

Her beaten copy of Jane Eyre was picked up again – she found her bookmarked place and sat at the window seat. She opened the curtains slightly – enough to see out, and enough to allow in enough light for her to properly read by. But she couldn't begin reading.

Guilt had a firm hold on her, once again. It clouded her ability to process anything external. She hated this…_hated_ it. Her capacity for making herself feel awful was so remarkable that it could render her unseeing to the outside world. If she ever managed to kill a person, she'd more than likely wind up entirely paralytic – not by injury, but by shock and guilt. It wasn't a heartening thought, even when she had no plans to take anyone's life any time in the near future.

She tucked her legs up on the window seat and sighed to herself, closing the book again. Her page was now lost, but she'd read the book hundreds of times as it was. It didn't matter. She wasn't going to be able to read any time soon.

"Dammit."

The problem was, she realized, that by all intents and purposes she _should_ be angry with Gambit. It was _his_ actions that had ultimately ensured their relationship could never work, but _she_ felt guilty because she had ended it. _His_ reaction to the news of her 'secret' was entirely uncalled for – he had no right to be jealous, let alone disappear for weeks without prior notice! – but _she_ felt guilty for causing him pain. She shouldn't be feeling guilty, God damn it. She should be angry, like he was bound to be when he returned. She should be able to throw his indiscretions in his face; she should be able to say that at least she had the strength of character not to tag him along when she found someone else; she should be able to tell him that at least _she_ had the consistency to remain with _one person _at a time…

But she couldn't overcome her guilt, so she couldn't say those things.

She and Gambit had that dreadful thing…'history'. They shared good, happy moments together, though they had more overwhelming number of bad times to reminisce on. While their relationship was done with, there was still that history. Logical progression met it's first barrier there – emotion. She couldn't get mad with him, not just yet. There was – despite her anger – that small part of her that cared for him still. That part cared what he thought of her. That part was now heavily dominated in her affections by what she felt for Magneto, but still…she _owed_ Gambit an explanation, if nothing else.

"Stupid history," she muttered to herself.

So, once again, she would be the considerate one. She would put herself in front of him and wait for the reaction. Knowing Gambit, she wouldn't face the same problem that she had with Wolverine and still currently endured with Cyclops – cold silence. He wasn't the type to be cold – he was the type to either stew in his anger or deliver it to her with ferocity. If he decided to sulk, she would begin the conversation. If not…well, she'd test how long she could hold her tongue against retaliating, if he chose to yell at her.

She quirked a slight smile, but it was hard to find humor in anything at that point in time.

* * *

It was almost the twenty-first before Gambit returned. The roar of his motorcycle finally reached the Institute at eleven-fifteen at night.

Rogue got to her feet and straightened herself out. True to her own pledge, she had remained in the window seat. Kitty – who was now curled up in bed – had retrieved food for her from lunch and dinner while she remained fixed in her place, waiting. No words had been exchanged between the two girls – Kitty knew who she was waiting for, but knew better than to ask why.

"Smart girl," Rogue whispered, casting a fond glance at the lightly-snoring figure under the bright purple duvet.

As Rogue descended the stairs, her heart palpitating madly in her ears, the foyer door opened and closed shut. A set of keys were thrown onto the coffee table by the coat rack; a colorful French curse, muttered wearily, echoed around the room.

Finally, the source of all the noise came into view at the bottom step.

Rogue froze up as Gambit climbed three steps before looking up and stopping in his tracks as well. They stood there, staring at each other from their vastly different positions. Rogue had no idea what expression she wore – her focus wasn't on herself. She studied Gambit's expression, his look – she didn't know what for. His eyes were heavy and bloodshot with weariness and, judging by the roughened look about him, the remnants of a hangover. His skin looked haggard, as well, but he looked alright enough despite it all. The only thing that was obvious about him was that he'd been drinking hard sometime, somewhere in the last twenty-four hours.

His mouth was slightly open; he looked ready to say something, but was having trouble remembering just what that was. His tired eyes flickered over her face, taking in the rest of her at varying intervals before returning to her eyes. Rogue didn't know what to make of his assessing stare – she'd made a point of looking pretty much just how he was used to, with no strange surprises; artfully ripped jeans and a plain dark sweater. The only thing she'd forgone was the dark makeup – she'd stopped wearing it entirely.

Who only knew how many minutes passed with the two of them staring at each other like that? There were no observing eyes to be found – it was only him and her, at opposite ends of the stairs. Eventually, however, the spell was broken. Gambit moved to one side of the staircase and gestured behind him towards the cavernous foyer. "Wouldn't wanna keep y' from y' destination," he said unemotionally. "Lord knows ol' Buckethead doesn't like t' wait."

Rogue bit back the angry retaliations that surged in her mind at his words. "Ah'm not goin' out," she told him levelly. "Ah wanted ta see _you_." It was a hard task to keep her rage out of her voice, but – by some miracle – she managed it.

Gambit grinned, but the humor in his expression didn't reach his eyes. "Well, how 'bout dat? Is dis de Twilight Zone, _chère_? Must be…"

Biting her lips together, Rogue linked her hands behind her back. "We gotta talk," she told him.

The Cajun's jaw set and his bleary eyes hardened. "Ain't like y', _chère_, t' wait up all night jus' so y' can harass a man. Here Remy t'ought dat y' might have better t'ings t' do now…like bein' _kept up_ all night, instead."

"That's not true, Gambit." Rogue leaned against the balustrade, outwardly ignoring his last comment despite the anger that seethed inside of her. "Ah spent a number of nights waitin' on ya. Remember?" She tried to reign in the bitter comments about his own nocturnal habits – it was quickly wearing down her patience. But this tactic was a more effective one than anger. If guilt was going to plague her, then he was going to feel it too. She'd almost been expecting his words – she'd already planned her strategy to counterstrike. "Ah can count at least three nights that Ah waited at mah window, watchin'. Hopin' that ya might come back an'…give me a real reason ta stay. What's one more time, Ah figure?"

"_Merde_…"

She began to twist a lock of hair between her fingers again. That old nervous habit. At least her ploy was working. "Ah just wanna know a few things, Gambit," she said quietly. He remained silent, and her anger began to dissipate slightly. "An' Ah wanna explain mahself. Ah'll get outta ya way for good, then. There's just a few questions Ah have…a few things Ah gotta say, too."

Her guilt-plot worked; his shoulders slumped heavily and he leaned back against the wall opposite the stair railing. "Y' t'ink I want y' outta m' way, girl?" he asked. All the bite was gone from his tone. He was reduced to sounding only tired now. "Y' ask dis piece, den y' leave? Dat's it?"

Rogue looked at the hand twisting her lock of hair. "Ah don't know yet. Ah haven't decided ta stay or go. That's why Ah wanna talk to ya."

He snorted and scratched his chin. "_Chère_…not me. Y' already know I don't want y' t' go."

"No, Ah didn't know that." She'd suspected, however. But that wasn't why she was there. She was there for her answers – she was there to alleviate her guilt. "Ah'm not here tryin' ta get ya to convince me ta stay, alright? If Ah wanted ta hear motivational, pretty speeches, Ah'd try patch things up with Cyke." Both of them smiled slightly and humorlessly at that. "Ah just want answers. Ah wanna make an informed decision, an' Ah need the right information for that."

"Den talk t' Beast. More information in dat man den in de Encyclopedia Britannica."

"Ya don't wanna talk ta me, then?" Rogue asked, trying not to sound hurt.

Gambit dropped his head back against the wall with a thud. "Dat's not it, girl. Y' know dat's not it." He screwed up his eyes and began searching through the pockets of his worn trenchcoat for a cigarette. "Goddamn." He finally located one, secured a lighter from another pocket, and lit it up. He took a long drag on it before opening his eyes again, exhaling a stream of smoke as he did. "I dunno what y' t'ink I can tell y'."

"Ask me somethin', then."

"Wha'?"

Rogue took a deep breath and fixed him with a level stare. "Ask me somethin'. Anythin'. Ah'm not the only one with questions here, Ah know that. Ah can find mah answer in ya questions."

Gambit stared at her, frowning. His expression turned guarded. "How de hell can y' find answers in questions, _chère_? Y' gonna psychoanalyze me?"

She shook her head. "Dunno how," she admitted honestly. "But sorta. Just ask me somethin', Gambit."

"Righ' den…" He took another long drag on his cigarette. "Why?"

"Why wha'? Be specific, won't ya?"

"Why _him_? It's not just de touch, _chère_…Ah know y'."

Rogue couldn't help the disturbing giddy hop of her stomach at that declaration, but she fought it down. "No, it isn't," she admitted. "There's…it's complicated." She took another deep breath. "The reasons keep changin'. First it was 'cause…'cause Ah found a way ta have control with him. There's a power in desire, isn't there? Ah felt it, anyway. It was somethin' that Ah could only feel with him – control an' power. Ah didn't have either such thing, literally, but it felt like it." She looked away, back to the hand at the side of her face that twisted in her hair. "Then…when it got more complicated, it was…Ah don't know. We started actually _talkin_'. Everythin' he said made me feel…worthwhile. Ah never felt small or insignificant with him. He just managed ta keep me feelin' safe an' solid when everythin' felt so damn weird an' outta control." She looked back at Gambit, to find that he'd already practically devoured his cigarette and was staring furiously out towards the foyer behind him. "He brought back the girl Ah used ta be. Ah'm…happy when Ah'm with him."

A silence fell. Gambit broke it. "Righ'." He flicked his cigarette butt into a pot plant. "So dat's de 'why him' covered. What 'bout de 'when', _chère_?"

"Ya already know. That night ya stood me up."

"Dat's righ'…forgot." He shifted slightly, then looked back up at her. "How, den? Wha' does he do dat no ot'er man's t'ought of yet?"

"How's he able ta touch me, ya mean?" Rogue frowned slightly. What difference did that make? "Magnetic shield."

"No offense," he said, noting her frown and wrongly assuming the reason behind it.

"Forget it." She shook her head. This wasn't going where she thought it would. Gambit was asking questions as if he were sizing up Magneto as a rival. That wasn't her intent, damn it. He was supposed to be asking her questions that had nothing to do with Magneto – questions that were strictly relating to him and her. "Gambit, lemme ask ya somethin' now." He nodded, and she went on. "If Ah were gonna stay, would ya object?"

"I told y', _chère_. I want y' t' stay."

"Why, then?"

Gambit tensed slightly. "Why?" he repeated.

"Yeah. Why?"

He looked away and began searching his trenchcoat for another cigarette. "Look, _chère_…" He found one of the things and lit it up, drawing on it liberally. "I care 'bout y'. Y' gotta realize dat, if only dat." He exhaled slowly. "I made lots of mistakes wit' y', but…I never lied. It was de God honest truth wha' Ah told y' de last time we spoke. Dis…I feel somet'ing real for y', girl. Dis ain't no game. I wanted another shot…I wanted t' make it up t' y'." He drew on his cigarette again. "Wanted t' make it righ'. Didn't wanna screw up again. I still feel dat, too. Rogue…y' d' firs' _femme_ in m' life dat makes me feel human. Y' can look me in de eye wit'out flinchin'. Y' accept what I've done…" He looked away, at the foyer again. "Bet dat's one of de t'ings Buckethead fell in love wit', too. De way y' can see de worst in a man, but y' make him still feel like a man despite it, _chère_."

Rogue sighed. This wasn't good – she needed answers, not heartfelt declarations. This was supposed to be nothing but an impartial weighing of options, dammit. "An' now, Gambit? Ya know what Ah feel…where mah heart is. What if Ah stayed now?"

"Den why would y' stay, if y' heart's elsewhere?"

"There's quite a few good reasons ta stay. Ah need somethin' ta help push the scales one way or the other."

"Well…jus' 'cause y' don't want Remy no more, doesn't mean Remy don't want y'."

Rogue shook her head at that. "If ya got me ag'in, we'd fall back inta old ways – _Ah'd_ spend all mah time cryin', an' _you'd_ be with every other woman but me."

"Ouch, _chère_."

"Tell me it ain't true, then." When he said nothing, Rogue sighed. She sank down to sit on the stair behind her. "We're two very different people, Remy," she told him. "Ya need touch, an' Ah was too naïve ta know why. Ah thought it wouldn't matter, if there was enough of everythin' else."

"It should be enough, shouldn't it?" Gambit asked bitterly, glaring down at his worn-out boots.

"Ah don't know," Rogue replied honestly. "Ah'm _still_ naïve. Maybe it is enough for some, but Ah couldn't tell ya. Ah'm only just now findin' out all the particulars of this whole 'love' thing, as it is."

"Wha' d' y' make of de game so far, _chère_?"

"It sure ain't for kids, that's all Ah know."

Gambit snorted and flicked another cigarette butt into the potted plant nearest him. "Sure ain't," he agreed.

A long silence – not nearly so strained at the first two between them – settled. Further down the hallway behind Rogue someone coughed in their sleep loudly: another person muttered something in their dream. There was the slight sound of a floorboard creaking – the house was still settling. Gambit shifted in the silence, and the surprisingly loud, creasing folds of his trenchcoat made him wince at the way it cut through the quiet. Rogue smiled and dropped her head down to look at her scuffed-up trainers. There was still one more thing she really wanted to know, but Gambit – surprisingly – broke through the silence first.

"Dis ain't…dis ain't de way I t'ought we'd end, _chère_," he admitted. "I really t'ought I could get it righ' for once."

Guilt flickered at the back of Rogue's mind but she clamped down on it. That was almost resolved, now. The guilt was evenly distributed between the two of them – both shouldering the blame for not being able to work it out. "Ah'm sure the reason why it didn't work is just personal differences, Remy," she assured him. She smiled up at him, slightly. "Ah really do still care 'bout ya. Just…"

"Dere's Magneto, now."

He sounded bitter, and it was justifiable, but with the guilt that Rogue was already feeling it was just the thing that opened the lid on her perpetually simmering anger. "Just like there was always _your_ ever-broadening, ever-changin' harem…" she bit off, letting the sentence trail away unfinished.

"Hey, now…"

"Gambit, Magneto's not the reason we're no good. Neither are the women ya like ta spend ya nights with," she told him as she got to her feet. "We were never any good. We were convenient. _You_ had a girl who ya didn't mind actually _talkin'_ to, an' _Ah_ had a guy who made me feel like Ah _wasn't_ a leper. It'd have been great if Ah could touch people without barriers, or if ya didn't have such a demandin' sex drive. But that's how things are. This isn't about 'givin' up', like ya said it was over a month ago. There's a pretty big difference between quittin' at the finish line an' floggin' a dead horse."

"Huh." Gambit levered himself away from the wall and began to walk up the steps to her. "Ain't dat funny, _chère_? Y' mention a dead horse, an' now all I can t'ink of is y' new _beau_."

"Oh, for God's sakes…" Rogue turned away and started up the stairs. It'd been going so well; it'd looked like they could've left the conversation on reasonably good terms…then she had to open her big fat mouth. "We're back ta preschool puns and sexual innuendoes, are we? That's great. Y'see, this is another thing, Gambit. For every step of progress we ever made, we'd take another five steps back."

"I'm not de one dat got all defensive all of a sudden," Gambit interjected. "Y' bring up de t'ings I did wrong…I'm gonna return de favor, girl."

Rage surged through her every limb. She spun around, almost colliding right into Gambit's chest and…_smack_! She hauled back and slapped him right across the face. He stumbled back into the wall, more than a little surprised at her sudden turn but not actually seriously hurt. Rogue, on the other hand, remained perfectly still with her stinging right palm now pressed against her left shoulder, trying to hide the fact that her breathing was now very shallow. "Don't ya _ever_…_ever_ try cheapen what Ah feel by comparin' mah relationship with Magneto ta…ta the time ya spent with those…" She drew in a deep, steadying breath. She was so angry she couldn't even find the right words to say.

Gambit steadied himself. "Violence, _chère_? Where'd y' pick dat up?" He leaned in close to her, regardless of the rising red mark on his left cheek. "Dis some kinda new rough play dat y' picked up?"

The dampening cool of embarrassment now flared low in her stomach, cooling her rage but not her vindictiveness. She leaned into Gambit, just as he did her, until her lips were mere fractions of an inch away from his ear. "Not that Ah'd share such experiences with _you_, Gambit. But Ah _have_ picked up quite a bit, now that ya mentioned it. Magneto's more than willin' ta fill me in on all that Ah've missed out on these long, untouched years…" She deliberately slid her right hand over from her left shoulder to caress her collarbone sensuously, just in Gambit's field of vision.

He caught her wrist and forced her hand down to her side. "Real nice, _chère_. Mock me. Show me just how much de woman I love desires another."

Rogue tried to pull her hand out of his grip but failed. "Ah'd show ya, alright. Ya spent enough time showin' me just how undesirable Ah was ta _you_!"

"Unattainable, not undesirable." Something in his eyes shifted, and his free hand began to toy with a lock of her hair. "Dere's a difference between wha' I can't have an' wha' I don't want at all…"

"It ain't like ya to just _give up_," she snarled, throwing more of his words from their last conversation at him.

He glared. "Ain't dat de truth."

Rogue finally extracted her hand out of his. "Yeah, Ah guess it _is_ the truth, huh?" She folded her arms over her middle and glared back at him. "Too bad the choice isn't yours anymore, Gambit. Ah'm still unattainable to ya – even more so than before."

"So we're both stuck, _chère_. I'm stuck wit'out de woman I want; _you're_ stuck wit' Magneto – de only person in de world who could touch y'."

"The only person in the world with the brains and means ta find a way around mah power," Rogue retaliated quickly, still snarling at him in fury.

"Like y'd give anyone else a chance …"

"Geez, Cajun. Of course Ah'm not gonna give anyone else a chance now! Ah'm happy with Magneto!"

"An' who wouldn't be happy wit' someone fifty years older than dem, wit' more issues den de boys in de mental homes. _Merde_, girl! His _children_ are…what? Six months younger den y'? If y' want someone in dat family, go find Quicksilver. He looks enough like his daddy, doesn't he?"

"Are ya even listenin' ta me? Ah'm _happy_ with _Magneto_." Rogue began storming up the stairs again. "Maybe that's the problem. Is it? Ya just can't _stand_ the idea that the girl ya want would rather have a man old enough ta remember the Great Depression, instead of _you_? Is that it?" She laughed humorlessly, bitterly and shook her head. "Oh, Gawd. Listen ta me. Ah'm back ta those stupid adolescent insults ag'in. Here Ah thought we'd finally worked past this. Ah thought – _idiot_ that Ah am – that maybe Ah could find a good reason ta stay if Ah talked to ya! Shows how wrong a girl can be, doesn't it…?"

Her shoulders were seized; Gambit wrenched her around at the top step and held her in place. "A reason, _chère_? Everyt'ing I got's not enough, den?"

"Not when it comes with guilt, unworthiness an' inadequacies," Rogue threw back, struggling against him. But he refused to let her go, holding her until she ran out of energy and slumped in his grip.

"Y' calmed down yet?"

Rogue sighed heavily and folded her arms. She nodded, and was released. "Ah don't get it, Remy," she said miserably. She stared up at him. "Why pick the girl ya can't touch? Why didn't ya give ya heart to a girl who could make ya happy? One of those blonde girls ya like ta touch so damn much? Gawd…even Kitty or Jean would appreciate ya more than Ah could."

"I don't want dem, Rogue." He smiled just slightly. "Couldn't have 'em, anyway. Jean's got de Boy Scout monitorin' her, an' de Kitty's jailbait."

She shook her head at him, smiling miserably. "Ya can't have me, either. Not before, when we were datin'. Not now, especially."

"I had somet'ing." He moved to grasp her hands again, then stopped himself and folded his arms over his chest. "I had y' heart, didn't I? Sure t'ought I did, wit' de way y' made me feel back den."

"Ya had somethin'," Rogue agreed.

"An' I screwed it up."

"No…that's wasn't just _you_." She smiled a little more sincerely now. "C'mon, Remy. Ah started this out tellin' ya how the blame for the end of this isn't anywhere but on the _both_ of us. We're just…"

"Two different people…" Remy started looking for a third cigarette now. "Dat doesn't make it any easier ta live wit', y' know."

"Yeah." Rogue leaned against the balustrade and hugged her arms around her middle. "Gawd, we're dysfunctional, though. Ah've lost track of how often this has gone from an argument, to a heartfelt admission of feelin's, an' then back ag'in." She shook her head and glanced up at Gambit as he secured that elusive third cigarette. "We just suck, huh?"

"Well, not me personally, but I won't discourage it if _you_ do, _chère_…" Gambit, midway through pulling a cigarette from it's packet, closed his eyes. "Bad innuendo."

Rogue snickered. "Oh, yeah."

"Particularly since de chances dat I'll be on de receivin' end of…look, I'm gonna shut up now."

"That's prob'ly the best course of action."

"If we're gonna stay friendly, yeah."

Rogue's smile dwindled as she watched him fumble for his lighter, while a long-burning question in her mind came back to the forefront. "Remy…?" She cleared her throat. "Ah'm…sorry. Ah didn't want it ta go ta pieces. Especially not this way."

Gambit nodded. "Y' already made up y' mind, t'ough. Dere's no turnin' back."

"Wha'?"

He flipped the lid back from his lighter and struck up a flame. "_Chère_, I'd be happy t' try ag'in. I made dat clear, I t'ought." He shrugged and flipped the lid onto the lighter again, putting out the flame. "Hell, I'd like t' have a real say in whet'er or not y' stay. But dat ain't m' call anymore."

"Wait…wha'?"

Gambit shrugged and leaned against the wall again, pocketing the lighter as he went. "It's your decision, _chère_," he told her, staring at her intently in a way that conveyed no expression whatsoever. The only indication of his discomfort was his right hand, clenching around his unlit cigarette, ruining it. He didn't seem to notice. "If I start tellin' y' what t' do, I'll lose y'. Can't do dat."

Rogue blinked at him, disbelieving. "It's not about winnin' or losin', Cajun," she told him with visible patience. "Ah didn't ask ya to start tellin' me what ta do, either! Ah wanted ta know if ya could deal with me stayin' on, if that's what Ah chose! Ah wanted ta know how ya _feel_!"

"Told y' already," he replied, now crumbling the cigarette in his hands into a mess of tobacco and thin paper. "I feel somet'ing for y', Rogue."

"Not that," she said, exasperated. "Am Ah so far gone from the path, Gambit? Am Ah worth forgiveness? Can Ah count on ya not makin' me feel alienated from the X-Men? How _d'you_, as an _X-Man_, feel about what Ah've done?"

"How d' I feel, _chère_? As an X-Man?" He dusted his hands of the ruined cigarette and began to search his pockets for a new one. "Pretty damn betrayed, really."

Rogue bit down on her bottom lip. "Right." She ran her gloved hands through her hair. "Right," she repeated. "Betrayed. Now ya know the feelin'."

"_Chère_…"

She waved him off and turned away, ascending the remaining few stairs, quickly slipping through the hallway and into her room. There, she quietly turned the lock on the door and – after casting a look at Kitty to make sure she hadn't woken the girl up – she crossed the darkened room to the balcony doors. She pried one open carefully and snuck out, closing it shut behind her with a click. There, on the cold carved stone, she sat with her back against the white brick exterior of the mansion, her legs tucking up so that her chin rested on her knees. She wrapped her arms around her legs and stared out at the grounds through the small gaps in the balcony fence.

Betrayed.

The word rang in her mind. She knew that was how some of the others felt – Scott made that abundantly clear in his incessant glaring – but to hear that from _him_… It made her feel worse, all the more out of place, now. _He_ felt betrayed – the King of Deceit felt betrayed by _her_, by her one indiscretion that had, by no fault of hers, become something so much deeper and important than what it was originally intended to be. The 'indiscretion' that was quickly becoming the only comfort in her waking hours…

She drew in a deep breath and straightened herself. She couldn't think like this – it was irrational, too emotional. She needed to have a clear head when she made her decision. Gambit wanted her to remain, even if only for the wrong reasons – he just had a crappy way with words and bore a strong grudge. With time, he'd get over it. The others would, too.

…But only if she gave up all contact with Magneto. That was the catch, wasn't it? They didn't say it, but staying with them would mean that her liaisons with Magneto could no longer take place – even if she didn't wind up leaving, she still fully intended to see him. For as long as he still wanted her…she'd promised him that once, hadn't she? Yes, she had…after their first night together, actually. She could even remember her words. "As long as ya want me, Ah'm here," she repeated to the empty air.

However, the same vow stood for the X-Men, as far as she was concerned. As long as she could find a place there, she couldn't comfortably leave them.

So…she just had to carefully look at the niche she had once occupied…and determine if it was still there.

"Won't figure that out tonight," she said restlessly. She was too emotional and besides, it would have to be well past midnight. She was drained, exhausted from that confrontation with Gambit.

Tomorrow, and for what remained of the week…she would slowly piece together her decision.

* * *

A/N: I hope that was satisfactory. Anyway – REVIEW TIME!

ishandahalf: Holy I really didn't mean to keep everyone waiting for this long, Batman! (Isn't this fun!) Slightly off-topic here, but when you mention twitchiness I can't help but think of Tweak from South Park. You know, the highly-caffeinated, paranoid kid? Well, you'd know who he was if you watched it. It's one of those shows you either love or you hate. Anyway…you'll notice that the events in Gambit's absence isn't touched on – Rogue must know better than to ask now. That's my theory on things. Hope you liked the much-anticipated Gambit Confrontation(TM!) by the way. I'm kind of sad that it's over, but only because it was fun to keep churning ideas in my head about ways she could totally own his butt with witty retaliations. Surprisingly, there turned out to be fewer smartass remarks and cutting innuendoes than I expected. Hm. Oh well. I'm glad you liked the way I handled the Wolvie bit, by the way. I felt they needed closure of the happy kind, with just a little undertone of 'what the hell were you _thinking_!' left to slightly mar it so that it's not _perfect_. Or something. I don't know. Here, have a tidbit of a preview, to take attention away from the fact that I've begun rambling now: '"So that's why you had all the kids start meditation with Storm."

"Indeed. It assured them that their innermost secrets would remain so, should the need ever arise for me to see inside their minds."

"Also makes sure you don't see…"

"Please do not finish that sentence."

Wolverine made a disgusted face. "I wasn't gonna say anything like that, God dammit. You think I wanna talk about what your old buddy gets up to with Stripes? The girl's like a kid sister ta me."

"I'm aware. I trust, also, that you would have told her as much?"'

thriller: That's a pretty good reason to keep a name. You'd get many questions about it when reviewing stories in other fandoms. I've decided, by the way, which direction Rogue's going to go in…but I'm going to be evil and keep her vague until the very, very end. Seriously, she won't be giving a decisive answer until a long, suspenseful conversation with Magneto. Tee hee! Anyway, I've attempted to fill the Romy fan service quota here, but I don't know if I succeeded. The conversation wound up with them bitter at each other, like so many other occasions in fan fics all over this site. Oh well. Better than nothing, right? Anyhoo, thanks for the feedback and I hope you enjoyed this happy little chappie!

Elle Mooreside: It's an absolute miracle, isn't it? I can hardly believe I managed to update either. :) Funny that you should say that Cortez is going to get slammed into a wall, because that might just happen if the sequel I'm hoping to write sees fruition. Hurrah for the angry, irrational Magneto! Anyway. There was no actual screaming in this confrontation, unfortunately – there _were_ raised voices, of course, but…well, they might both be hotheaded but they wouldn't want to draw attention to this argument, would they? But the outcome is a bit subjective, isn't it? It depends on how you want to interpret it, really. It'll be interesting to see how that comes out. Well, thanks for the feedback and the cannoli-thingies. Hope to hear from you again!

willowaus: That _would_ be an ideal situation, if Wolverine, Kitty and Kurt were willing to leave with Rogue, but I can't really see that happening. Unfortunately. Besides, Magneto probably wouldn't go for it, despite how liberal I'm portraying him here. He'd sooner twist Wolverine into a pretzel than let the Canuck tag along and begin monitoring Rogue's every movement, I'd think. Thank you for the affirming comments regarding the conversation – it's surprisingly hard to write the dialogue of a man who's so monosyllabic. :) Thank you also for the enthusiastic response to the concept of a sequel. I'm excited about it too. I've already got a good chronology set up in my head…but there's still a long way to go. Anyhoo, thanks for the review and I hope you enjoyed the chapter!

Christina: Unfortunately for me, it wasn't so much an actual 'life' (i.e.: a social life) that got in the way of my updating as it was a lack of input from other parties in securing a house for the rest of the year, not to mention very little help in packing to move or disconnecting the utilities at our previous residence and having them brought with us to our current abode…ahem. Yes, I'm bitter. My boyfriend is – in some ways – lazier than me, which is an amazing feat, I can assure you. :) Anyway. I love that phrase you used there – thought provoking thoughts. I love internal monologues. In the end, really, they get nothing solved until they're made into actual verbal communication. Well, thanks for the review and input. I hope she ends up with Magneto as well… :D

GWFreak315: Aw, you aren't on the uptake late at all – in fact, I'm being prompted into a sequel which should become more than mere speculation and ideas in a matter of days. The tragic ending your desiring might just feature there. And I'm glad to see I've put a little 'shake' into your Romy-lovin'. I used to be die-hard about that pairing too, but…something changed. Dunno what, but there you have it. And sorry, but those two ain't getting back together for all the tea in China, even if Rogue winds up staying with the X-Men. Thankies for the compliments re: my writing style and I hope to hear from you again! See you on the flip side, Sparky.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I don't own 'em.

A/N: …_cue the dramatic music!_

Yes, people, we've finally reached the conclusion! The one shot that got far too out of hand is almost at an end and, I must say that – despite my patchy updating and rather lousy, inconvenient bursts of inspiration – I really enjoyed writing this. I was actually going to write y'all a sequel. See! That's what you get when you encourage me with nice reviews and praise! A _sequel_ to this bizarre, occasionally confusing, often tasteless hellspawn of the mind! I've already got a plot sketched out and everything. I'm not sure when I'll start posting it, if ever, but be warned…it's possible to start a-comin'. :) But I might just move on to a better project. If not, the sequel's called 'Irrelevant Convolution'.

Well…wasn't _that_ a confusing passage to follow? So much 'maybe', 'perhaps' and 'I dunno'. I wish I could give you something more definite. I will tell you, though, that regardless as to whether or not I put up a sequel there _will _at least be a new fic staring this pairing that I so dearly love. So…yeah.

Anyway, we all know what's coming now – Rogue's decision. We've suffered the strange evolution of her relationship with Magneto; we've watched Gambit screw up a relationship with a woman he later and somewhat unwitting admits to loving; we've seen the X-Men buckle under the hideous threat of one of their own leaving them for their sworn enemy; we've listened to Magneto's internal monologues as he went through the most fun symptoms of the bi-polar syndrome we've all long suspected him to suffer under. Now…it's all coming to a close.

Once more and finally (for now)…love it or shove it.

* * *

**Inappropriate Conduct**

Chapter Twelve

* * *

It seemed like so very long ago, that first night, but she could remember it so vividly that it was hard to think of it as a past event.

Rogue closed her eyes against all external imagery, leaning back into the soft pillows at her head as she remembered every detail. She hadn't even been aware of how closely she'd been paying attention to the little things – the delicious flavors of the food; the warm scent of the burning candles; the clink of cutlery mingling with quiet conversation and the soft chords of a piano. Given her ability to reminisce on the smallest details, it was none too surprising that she also was able to recall _him_ rather clearly. His charcoal grey suit and his steely eyes; the low, masculine tone of his voice and the genuine sympathy he offered her; the courteous invitation to wait with her for a taxi…

The heated glances he threw her every so often…

The way he'd watched her as though captivated…

She opened her eyes again and pressed a cool hand to her warming forehead. Good Lord, she was swooning and he wasn't even there. It was probably best he never heard about this, or she'd suffer under his ego for it 'til the end of days.

Assuming she was there with him to see the 'end of days', that was.

With a frustrated noise, she turned her head in her nest of pillows to look at the alarm clock on her bedside table. It blinked back at her – red on black – that it was only just past noon.

Magneto wouldn't be there to see her until nine forty-five – he'd given her the exact time to the minute.

Rogue smiled slightly and leaned back again, staring up at the immaculate white ceiling of what might not be her room any longer from this day forward. Nine forty-five, if she remembered correctly, would be the approximate time she had entered the restaurant on that fateful night. Magneto certainly had a flair for the dramatic. Rogue, on the other hand, had a knack for incessantly putting things off, it would seem.

She still didn't have a firm decision in mind.

It seemed that both sides was equally balanced. Power and comfort with Magneto, or familiar chaos and a place as a peacekeeper with the X-Men – either option had its merits and drawbacks. It was as if her reasons, her motives and her considerations were neatly piled into a pair of scales, but the only movement upwards or downwards on either side was only momentary and caused by a slight ripple in the atmosphere. She was still waiting for a little more information.

Namely, the information which only Magneto could give her.

She already knew what questions she would ask him. She'd had a month to figure them out, after all. Some of them were less pressing to her final decision than others – she felt that she could still make an informed choice without knowing how Avalon was kept in orbit, for one thing, but it would certainly assuage a little voice of paranoia that had watched too many sci-fi movies involving an exploding planet, a doomsday device or damaged spaceship. Still…she needed answers. If he expected her to join him – as his _equal_, as he so vehemently told her she would be – then he would have to expect to divulge a little sensitive information. If he hadn't expected it…well, tough bacon rinds. She wouldn't make her decision without _all_ the information she needed.

Sure, she was irrational most of the time…but with something _this_ important and drastic, she knew she couldn't just act spontaneously and without caution. This could probably alter the course of her very _life_. It would certainly determine her short-term future for a good while…

Exhaling, she looked at the clock on her bedside table again. Five past twelve. Why did time have to move so slowly when she only wanted it to race by? There was no possibility of making her decision _now_; she needed to talk to Magneto. And she wouldn't be able to do _that_ until nine forty-five.

Another nine hours and forty minutes to waste…

* * *

"D-Day, huh?"

Xavier glanced up from the spreadsheets in front of him and cast a look at Wolverine, who was surprisingly calm. "When Rogue first had me impart the turn of circumstances to the X-Men," he said carefully, "I remember quite plainly that you seethed in ill-disguised anger for the entire twenty minutes it took for me to properly and carefully deliver the necessary facts." His expression turned somewhat disbelieving. "Dare I hope that at least one of the residents of the Institute, aside from Katherine and Kurt, _didn't_ ignore my suggestion to talk to Rogue, and hear the events as told by her?"

"Sorta."

"Logan?"

"She found me."

Xavier smiled slightly and turned back to the mass of papers in front of him.

"Wipe that smirk off your face, dammit," Wolverine groused, sitting down in one of the armchairs opposite Xavier's desk and looking a little more irritable than before. "Besides…didn't do our case much good anyway, gettin' me to talk to her. Half-pint came to breakfast almost in tears tellin' the elf how Stripes has pulled a suitcase out this morning."

"Tell me, how long do the students remain indignant once you assign them those monikers?"

"Jesus, Chuck…Stripes is gonna leave an' you're crackin' wiseass remarks at me. You don't want the kid to stay anymore, or what?"

Xavier looked up again. "Rogue is welcome here no matter which option she chooses. And I can assure you that she hasn't made up her mind regarding Magneto's offer just yet."

"Well, she ain't got much more time to figure it out."

"True." Xavier put down his pen. "But she's made the rather admirable decision to not let emotional attachment become too strong an argument regarding this matter. She has, so far, decided that both sides have their own merits and that these merits weigh equally. She is unable to reach a decision, logically, until she is given the information that will push her in one direction or another." He leaned back in his wheelchair, frowning slightly. "This information will come from Magneto."

"She's not gonna have a decision by the time he gets here." Wolverine nodded. "That's just what she told me."

"Then we have consistency," Xavier replied, nodding. "Her decision will be made once she has asked him a few questions – what he intends for her to do as a part of this utopian society, just what he supposed to mean by saying she would be his 'equal', et cetera. There are a few more personal questions that I didn't…"

"You read her mind, huh?"

"It wasn't my finest hour, Wolverine." Xavier picked up his pen again and looked down at the spreadsheets once more. "But I did request the information from her – she divulged it willingly, only hiding those personal matters from me and excluding me from any further details of the situation…a courtesy which I am grateful for, more than anything. One often stumbles upon things that should not be seen by anyone but the mind's beholder, in the memories and thoughts of an undisciplined mind."

"So that's why you had all the kids start meditation with Storm."

"Indeed. It assured them that their innermost secrets would remain so, should the need ever arise for me to see inside their minds."

"Also makes sure you don't see…"

"Please do not finish that sentence."

Wolverine made a disgusted face. "I wasn't gonna say anything like that, God dammit. You think I wanna talk about what your old buddy gets up to with Stripes? The girl's like a kid sister ta me."

"I'm aware. I trust, also, that you would have told her as much?"

"Sorta."

Xavier looked up again, frowning. "I would have thought that…"

"I don't do that heartfelt crap."

"Your pride took precedence over your want to keep Rogue in the Institute?"

"Jesus, Chuck…" Wolverine shook his head, but looked somewhat regretful. "She knows, alright? I told her I want her to stay. Why the hell is it so important fer you ta know what I told her, anyway?"

"Because you are one of the few people here that she has made an attachment to," Xavier explained as he returned his focus to the sheets of paper on his desk. "Hearing that from you would mean much more to her than to receive the same declaration from Jubilee or Storm. Just as you regard her as a younger sister, she looks up to you as she would an older brother. She puts a great deal of importance in your words – she cares quite strongly what you think of her. Why else would she make sure to speak with you before she made this decision?"

"Yeah, I know…"

"The problem here is that you don't believe your words had any effect at all." Xavier drew a heavy line under a figure in the spreadsheet he was studying. "But I can assure you, your input has helped. It will see that Rogue makes an informed decision, but it also strengthens the argument in the favor our team. And that may sound heartless – I'm aware – but in actuality I _do_ value Rogue as both a student and a member of the X-Men. However, since she is approaching this decision logically – realizing that it is such an important, life-altering choice to make – our general outlook cannot remain entirely emotional either. It weakens the argument." He glanced up briefly at the other man, then looked back down at his work again. "Your conversation with her gave her objective information as well as a reminder of her emotional attachment to the Institute. Your input _has_ helped."

"I wasn't 'objective', Goddamn it. I just talked to her. Asked what I wanted ta know. Gave her answers when she asked me questions."

"Rogue is used to looking beyond what she hears. Her powers give her a deeper understanding to the words spoken by the people she has absorbed. Though I can't imagine she would need to search for anything further in what you told her; you're not exactly the kind to hold back your opinion, are you?"

"Was that supposed to be funny, Chuck?"

Xavier smiled slightly, but didn't look up. "You're worrying needlessly. Even if she leaves the Institute, as long as you want to remain in contact with her she will not severe all ties, I can assure you. She certainly won't be forgetting Shadowcat and Nightcrawler…why would your case be different?"

Wolverine snorted. "You think he'd let her stay in contact with the X-_Men_?"

"As irrational as Erik can be, he would realize that forcing her to exclude the people she cares for from her life would be all it would take to convince her to remain here."

"Huh." There was a short silence between them. "Any way you could make him say that to her, then?"

"Erik would kill me."

"Bullshit."

"Actually, he would react quite violently, I imagine, if I did any such thing. As I have said, he is irrational. He was defensive enough with me when I told him that he was walking a dangerous path, that men in the autumn of their days are often prone to becoming infatuated with younger women. And Erik never _did_ do anything in a half-way or incomplete manner. It is clear that my prying is something that could force his anger to the forefront in this matter." Xavier made a notation in a margin on the sheet in front of him. "He is a determined man, besides – that determination has destroyed the will of the strong before now…it has ended lives, on occasion. The only thing that would dissuade him in this endeavor is Rogue's own refusal of his offer. Any outside interference would lead to…less than desirable outcomes."

"Jesus…" Wolverine leaned back in his seat. "Ya really gotta wonder why Rogue's still goin' along with this."

"Love blinds us to all imperfections. She loves him."

"She wouldn't gut anyone who tried to keep her away from him, though."

"No…but I imagine that the offender wouldn't escape injury entirely."

"Probably not," Wolverine agreed, nodding as a reflective expression clouded his eyes for a moment. "She's nothin' like him, though. She's got determination, but…she's not gonna destroy anything ta get what she wants."

"True. Hopefully, her reluctance to choose violence over a diplomatic solution will wear down Erik's own overzealous convictions, should she leave with him. Perhaps she might instill a little more humanity into the man."

"That'll be the day."

Xavier shook his head and looked up. "He may have made himself an enemy of the X-Men, but he is not a monster."

Wolverine's expression twisted into a snarl. "Yeah? I remember my time with Weapon X…they thought _Sabertooth_ could be humanized, too."

"There is a vast difference between those two men. The only common ground they have is their violent reaction to their previous, separate incarcerations." Xavier put down his pen and rubbed his forehead. "This is an unproductive argument. And it is besides the point, in any case."

"How's questionin' Stripes' safety with him 'besides the point'?"

"Because the point for the moment is whether or not Rogue will, in actual fact, be leaving at all."

"An' we don't know the answer to that."

"But we do have our assumptions."

Wolverine snorted. "The gut instinct, huh? Mine's tellin' me she's gonna leave."

"Very pessimistic. I personally believe that Magneto will be unable to answer her questions due to his afflicting pride and stubbornness, and she will decide to remain here."

"_Optimist_."

"You should know by now that I am capable of nothing less than eternal hope." (A/N: Direct quote from Uncanny X-Men #412! Whee!)

Wolverine rolled his eyes and got to his feet. "Right."

"Are you going to talk to Rogue again?"

"I'm gonna try calm down Half-pint and the elf. Regurgitate that shit you just spun me. They're optimists. An' they can talk to Stripes easier than I can."

* * *

Magneto watched the darkness settle over the well-kept greenery beyond his study window, as he stood rigid-backed and tense. The blackened room he stood in was empty, save for his helmet on the carpeted floor at his feet and the old clock on the wall. He was starting to loathe that clock, with it's incessant tick, tick, ticking; he was very much tempted to crush the thing with a gesture…but, for the moment, the noise was the only thing that kept him stationary and reasonably held together.

There he stood, his jaw set uncomfortably tight and his eyes notably bloodshot, cursing each slow minute as it passed him by in gloom and emptiness. There he would stand for the last time, tonight and hopefully forever – he never intended to return to that lonely hovel of a room. However…there he would stand until the clock on the wall struck nine. Then he would leave – leave the lonely hovel, the empty compound, the contemptible world as a whole. And, if there was a merciful force on his side that night…he wouldn't be leaving alone.

…It truly was a contemptible development.

He had hoped, by the final day of waiting, that he might have been able to pull himself together sufficiently. In the least, he could have _appeared_ ready to finally hear Rogue's decision. Instead, he found himself wretchedly haggard and pathetically hesitant. As the day began to fade to dusk – as six o'clock rolled by with each second acting as an agonizing torture – he found that he was tempted to merely leave for Avalon, alone. It was defensiveness at it's more pure – to leave _her_ before she had the chance to reject _him_. The idea became even more tempting as seven o'clock passed, and darkness settled well and truly over his lightless study.

The Acolytes were already preparing the aircraft in the hangar. He had informed Cortez, briefly, that he had matters to attend to – an appointment after nine that he had to keep. Once he returned, they would leave. He gave no definite time of return, since he couldn't say himself when that would be. But this was something the Acolytes were used to. It was fairly common that they would receive only half an hour's preparation before an attack; he made certain that the drills they ran were sporadic and unscheduled, as he was determined that his troops would be ready for anything, at any time. He could be mistaken as impulsive and indecisive by most – the truth was, however, that he rarely told anyone what was turning about in his mind. He liked to be an enigma. It served him well to remain vague.

…

By _God_, how he wished he hadn't given her an entire month to decide.

He could literally _feel_ his skin hanging from him; he hadn't slept well in weeks. His mind was constantly darting from one thing to another. All manners of scenarios played in his head, and – thanks to his chronic paranoia – none of them seemed to be in his favor which only worsened his chances of sleeping. He couldn't find a moment's rest and was constantly _twitching_ with nervous, exhausted energy. It was pathetic, deplorable. He felt weaker than he could ever remember – he truly felt his age when he stood and moved.

It didn't help that, through all this, he was still lusting after her as strongly as ever.

None of this should have ever happened. He should have taken his satisfaction of the girl on that first night and left it at that. She'd made it quite clear – while he was able to touch her and deliver to her experiences that she wasn't likely to see with any other man without intense, careful training – that the fate of their illicit affair had been in his hands. She had made no demands, promised nothing but availability and asked nothing in return…but he had pushed for so very much more, craving all that he could have. And now he was atoning for it. He was suffering an agonizing hell of his frayed patience while he waited for her, pathetically restraining himself from either leaving without her or storming her residence with demands for an answer.

Neither option was a possibility, however. He needed her answer – whatever it was – so that he could shake off this incessant paranoia, but at the same time he knew it would be against his interests to force an answer from her without regard for his promise. Only once he either had her or had lost her would he be able to find a moments peace again. Preferable – obviously – was the former situation, but even without her there would be _some_ peace with her answer, given that situation would only replace nerve-wracking paranoia with miserable loneliness.

The clock on the wall was the last remaining piece of furniture, and the only one that he was determined would be exempted from packing; he wasn't going to watch that damned thing any longer, pining like a miserable little boy with a crush. It ticked by eight thirty, currently. In half an hour, he would leave to find her. He couldn't imagine the reception he would receive at Xavier's mansion. He couldn't imagine much, right at that moment. His mind was an incoherent mess, but with one goal rising above the torrent of thoughts and conflicting analyses. That goal could only know victory or failure at nine-thirty, however.

…An hour away.

It may as well have been another damned month.

* * *

It was a rare occurrence that the Institute was silent on a Friday night.

However, it wasn't as impossible as it had once seemed – at that moment, the only sound that could be heard through the gaping corridors was an eerie whispering behind a sparse few doors. Occasionally, there was a creak and groan as the mansion settled in the cold, quiet night. A gentle but chilly breeze stirred outside, and scattering leaves could be heard despite the windows being closed. There was no audible movement in any quarter; there was no commonplace loud, excited laughter emanating from the Recreation Room or the often full kitchen; not one stereo, television or computer was turned on; there were no feet running between dormitories in the students' wing. It was almost as if there was no life whatsoever in the Institute.

Of course, there _was_ life. However, each and every one of the residents seemed to have secluded themselves in some room or other behind a closed door, speaking only in hushed voices and being careful not to be heard over the sounds of the night outside. Every ear was straining to hear, listening for the telltale creak of the front gates. Every eye was darting to whatever window was nearest every so often, somewhat fearful of what they might see beyond the glass panes. Every muscle was tense, waiting…

The clock in the foyer played a half-tune, signaling the middle of the ninth hour of the evening. It's deep, brassy notes carried around the wide, cavernous room and beyond, to the ears of the anxious inhabitants of the house. Mouths suddenly went dry and pulses picked up in pace at the sound of the tune. All whispering, all movement ceased as they waited for what noise would come next.

Waiting is always counterproductive. A person is often stationary, wasting precious seconds, minutes or hours as they wait for a designated place in time. It seems that – in a show of pure spite – time lags all the more when a person waits for it to pass. Time should never be wasted waiting. There's always something else that can be done. For example, rather than waiting for whatever it is approaching you…

…_You_ can approach _it_, instead.

Rogue opened her bedroom door, cringing as the hinges squeaked loudly in the cavernous silence of the hallway. She left the door open and squared her shoulders, moving towards the stairs with deliberate, steady strides.

The floorboards groaned under her feet as she walked. Undoubtedly, the quiet residents of the Institute would know it was her. Inevitably, they would soon be peering around the threshold of their rooms and watching her descend the stairs. Certainly, they would watch her from the windows of the corridors that overlooked the gardens. Perhaps some would follow her as far as the foyer.

Though, she knew they wouldn't _dare_ move any closer than that.

They probably didn't even _know_ what they were so afraid of. At least Rogue _knew_ why her heart was palpitating wildly, why her breathing had become shallow so suddenly, why every step forward felt labored. Yes, she was afraid just as a good few of the Institute's residents would have to be, but for an entirely different reason. Rogue wasn't afraid of _Magneto_. She respected his power, she knew what he was capable of, and she had discovered personally what it meant to be on the receiving end of his wrath, but she didn't _fear_ him for any of those things.

She only feared what he would tell her.

No matter what he told her, something was going to have been finished with by the end of the night. It only remained to be seen just _what_ would be finished – her time with the X-Men, or her relationship with him? Despite all her careful deliberation and assessing, she still couldn't determine which situation would be worse to bear. Only the truthful answers from him could seal her decision, and even then…

Rogue was determined, however. She would be making her decision _tonight_ – there would be no more delays. There _couldn't_ be, in any case. Tonight, he was leaving…either with or without her.

But she was prepared.

She'd expected, at the beginning of the months with all that time stretching ahead of her, that she would have come up with an arsenal of questions to barrage him with at this point. In reality, she only had one thing that she wanted to ask him – one thing that should hopefully cover it all. It felt inadequate in it's simplicity…but it was all she needed to know.

At the top of the stairs, she paused. Carefully, she smoothed down her green skirt at the waist and tugged the cuffs of her white fitted shirt into place properly. She wore her old, everyday gloves still – she was sure there was some significance in doing so, but she couldn't think what. In any case, she'd put herself together in the way that he liked her to be – feminine and soft; high heels, opaque stockings and her hair swept up in an artfully-messy knot. Probably, there was some significance in all this too, but she was too nervous now to pay much attention to hidden details.

The stairs creaked and clicked under her shoes as she descended. Sure enough, as she'd expected, doors began to open behind her and undoubtedly there was a few people peering around to watch her as she disappeared into the dark gloom of the foyer. Whispers broke out furiously as her heels began to click, click, click across the marble tiles.

Rogue paid it all no attention. Through her nervousness – through her rapid heartbeat and shallow breathing – she was listening, _feeling_ for something else.

She wasn't searching for it for very long.

The wind seemed to die down entirely outside as she approached the door. For a brief moment, there was complete stillness aside from the constant rhythm of her shoes on the marble tiles of the foyer floor and the sharp tick, tick of the grand clock at the left of the room. A strange, eerie feeling came over her in the sudden silence. She recognized it well, though – it was accompanied by a distortion of sound; a hum of power. The sound was familiar, and so was the surreal feeling that accompanied it. There was a loud gasp from the floor above, a muffled exclamation. Rogue took a deep breath and opened the front doors with a decidedly determined force.

And there he was.

He wore his shrouding uniform – the cape and the helmet included. It leant a rather intimidating edge to him even now, but she should have expected this. He was far too cautious and probably far too paranoid to come into Xavier's presence willingly without his anti-psionic precautions. Still, it felt a little confronting to be face to face with a figure that personified everything she remembered to be Magneto – nothing of this man in front of her reminded her of the fierce, passionate and admittedly dangerous love she'd found in Eric. Here, standing at the threshold of the Institute, was a man who crushed his enemies and tore down civil structure – here was the man she was supposed to be leaving with.

Perhaps he was making a point in it, appearing like this. Perhaps this was a warning, of sorts, of just what she could expect of him if she chose to leave the X-Men and take to Avalon. The man she loved wasn't gone, she was sure, but perhaps for the most part she would be subject to _this_ persona – the cold, calculating strategist, who had previously set out to kill her more than once. The idea made her feel unpleasantly lightheaded.

The two stared at each other for a moment that could have been mere seconds or long, silent minutes. Finally – in a gesture that was probably heavily loaded with underlying meaning – Magneto hesitantly, carefully removed his helmet and guided it to sit on the balustrade beside the door with a gesture. He was still as shrouded in darkness as before, but at least now she could make out the tense line of his clenched jaw, the rigidity of the thin line of his mouth and the uncharacteristic and almost unperceivable nervous shift of his eyes.

Rogue released a breath she wasn't even aware of holding in.

Silence resumed once again, broken only by the rustling of the leaves in the garden as – once again – the wind began to stir through the trees and bushes. The constant tick, tick of the grand clock in the foyer was less pronounced now that the doors were open and the sound was allowed to flow beyond the confining walls of the wide room. The whispers from the window above had died down; creeping footsteps indicated that the spies had now shifted to the top of the stairs. Neither Rogue nor Magneto paid any of these distractions attention, focusing instead on each other with identical, somewhat hypnotized stares.

But at long last, Magneto spoke up.

"This welcome is making me somewhat reminiscent," he said, sounding both reflective and indifferent in a way that was unique to him. "You make no move to say anything, but you haven't sealed away in fear. The moment I removed my helmet you seemed to be more at ease but you still make no gesture to indicate anything other than unemotional surprise and distant memories of shared moments playing in your mind. That is the expression you used to regard me with in the quiet moments before we parted ways after a night's tryst, my dear."

Rogue smiled slightly, recognizing a familiar tone in his voice. "An' that's got ya worried that Ah'm only here ta say 'bye', hasn't it?"

He straightened – the movement would be unnoticeable to anyone who wasn't watching for such a reaction, but she had expected that. "_Is_ that the message you bear for me?"

"Ah don't know yet."

"What?" He couldn't have looked more surprised if she'd spat at his feet and slammed the door in his face.

Rogue bit her bottom lip. "Ah need ta ask ya somethin' first, Erik. Ah can't give an answer without it."

He relaxed slightly, though remained as tense as ever. "Then ask what you will."

"An' Ah can expect an honest answer?"

"I haven't lied to you once, Anna-Marie. I am not an upright man, but I am an honest one."

Rogue nodded in agreement and straightened out a little, preparing herself for whatever came next. Her question was deceptively short and rather lacking on the surface. She knew that. It felt overly simplified, that it was the only question she felt she had to ask to make an informed judgment on this decision – a momentous decision that would shake up her life at the foundations. She knew that, too. She also knew that he might think it irrelevant, but an honest answer to this one question would honestly make all the difference for her.

Because she honestly didn't know exactly what he thought, and she had to.

"Erik…" She took in a deep breath. "Ah need ta know what ya see when ya look at me."

Magneto frowned – she was right; he'd been expecting far more probing questions with more depth and meaning. It was obvious that he had no idea what his answer to that would accomplish, and he told her so. "How can that help you make this decision?"

"Please," she pressed. She looked away from him and those steely, questioning eyes of his to look at his helmet on the stone balustrade beside them. "Ah just need ta know."

There was a slight pause. For a moment, she worried that he wouldn't say anything at all. But then there was a slight pressure at her jaw – he was turning her face back to his; he'd stepped closer to her, realizing her distress. "I'm not exactly certain how you intend me to answer that question. There are many facets to it; it is ambiguous."

"Ah wanna know what kind of a person ya think Ah am. Ah wanna know what ya think of me."

The pressure in his jaw increased slightly. "Surely that is obvious…"

"You've never said anythin'. Ah'm insecure like that." She smiled just slightly, nervously. "Humor me?"

He secured her right hand in his free left one and kissed her fingertips, frowning slightly when he noticed the gloves on her hands. "It feels clichéd to say aloud what I feel, my dear. The same words are spoken every day by countless masses, often without thought and more than occasionally without true feeling. The words are inadequate. Useless." He began to gently tug her glove away. "What we share defies verbalization. It transcends the boundaries of the languages; it can only be experience internally."

"Please, Erik."

Magneto expression became exasperated, but as he finally pulled her glove from her hand he kissed her fingertips again with tenderness and his demeanor softened significantly. "I love you, Anna-Marie. Do you believe me?"

Rogue nodded and grasped the gentle hand at her jaw with her free one. "An' the other thing?"

"What kind of person do I think you are?" His expression became somewhat amused as he let the glove he held drop to the ground. "I couldn't love a callous, mean-spirited woman if that is what you're worried about."

"Not that…" She shook her head. "Just…Ah wanna know why…why me?"

He rankled slightly. "Would you rather I took my affection elsewhere?" he asked, his voice turning cold.

Rogue shook her head again and drew her right hand back to join her left, clasping his hand at her jaw and running her fingers along his gloved palm in a soothing gesture. "Ah wanna know what kind of person ya think Ah am, like Ah said. What makes me worth all that you've given me?"

"My affections could wind up to be a burden on you, my dear. And, more than likely, there will be some who cite you out for harm because of it. That is no gift, and aside from that I've given you nothing…save for the sporadic, so far limited experience of touch." He pressed a finger to her lips when she moved to say something here, and he stepped in closer to her so that mere inches separated them. "Anna, do you remember the first night we spent together? Before we parted ways, you promised me _everything_. Not for the mere, shallow reward of physical gratification, either – I know that wasn't what compelled you to allow me to extend our time together, to give control of the situation to me entirely, as you did. The woman I found myself with in that room was very much different from the one I had assumed her to be – she wasn't angry; she was passionate. She was vivacious but deliberately patient with me; she was honest from the very beginning and she _trusted_ me. She had seen me at my very worst before, but she still could look at me openly and without judgment. She accepted my control without challenge and gave me everything I demanded of her. I…I couldn't have broken away from her after that night. I should have realized just what would happen, but I didn't. She clouded my mind in such a way that I couldn't think of anything else but her, nor did I want to. She had me ensnared from the beginning, but I could only blame myself for it."

He paused for a moment, frowning slightly as he searched her face for a reaction. "My dear…when I look at you I can't see anything past you. I can only hopelessly stare at the vision before me…the beautiful, miraculous gift that you are. I feel remarkably redeemed for all my past misconducts when you smile for me. You…with your liveliness, your born grace, your utterly open honesty…I couldn't tell you in a day just what I see when I look at you, or what I feel."

Rogue felt her knees buckling. "Ah…Erik, Ah…dunno what ta say…"

"Then you don't need to say anything, my dear." He extracted his hands from hers and secured her in his arms, moving her face up to his. "Good God, I've missed you this long month." He bent down and kissed her deeply, hungrily.

Her eyes fluttered closed and her shaky arms came up and threaded around his neck. Her fingers tangled in his hair. She moaned against his mouth and became boneless in his arms. "Ah missed you too," she whispered as he moved away from her, still holding her tightly. She moved her arms so that her hands pressed against his chest, and she smiled slightly, looking somewhat dazed. "Sugah, it's amazin' that ya always know just what Ah wanna hear."

"It seems that we operate on the same wavelength, then. What I told you was the truth."

She rested her head against his chest. "It'd better be."

Magneto pulled her back from him to regard her with a quizzical though – oddly enough – admittedly humorous gleam in his eyes. "Was that a _threat_?"

"Hardly." Rogue raised herself up on her tiptoes and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his jaw. "Ah just don't wanna make a decision on half-truths and shaky facts, that's all."

"So I can suppose to demand an answer from you now?"

"Absolutely."

"Well…?" His arms tightened around her when she hesitated. "For the love of God…don't tease me, woman. I've been waiting on this moment for well over a month." He shook his head as she looked up at him with a question in her eyes. "Yes, I intended to bring you to Avalon long before I told you about it. I needed to think on the idea myself; I'm not a man to act on sheer impulse, ordinarily. Now, in the name of all things holy and merciful, would you _please_ give me your answer?"

Rogue bit her bottom lip, looking more than a little apprehensive. Yes, she knew her answer – she'd known it from the instant Magneto had begun to tell her just what kind of person he thought her to be. Possibly, she'd known it since she'd talked to the Professor at the beginning of this tense, month-long wait but it had taken this long to reach the decision consciously. She glanced over her shoulder, back towards the top of the stairs where she knew the nosier residents of the Institute were camped. More than likely, none of the people she was deeply attached to were in that crowd. But she was still nervous of those watching, hidden eyes. She turned back to Magneto, trying to ignore them. He was staring down at her with tension growing in his jaw and temples, compounded by his apprehension by the second. He was just as determined to hear her reply as the students behind her. She had to give an answer.

Now.

"_You_," she whispered, looking up at Magneto. "Ah wanna stay with you."

For a heartbeat there was no movement between them, nor around them. They remained staring at each other and – in that short heartbeat – Rogue began to worry that perhaps he was having second thoughts about taking her with him. Perhaps he'd decided that it wasn't worth the hostility that would inevitably now open up from the X-Men. Perhaps he'd only just realized how convenient it was to have her just to one side, not in his personal space or taking up more time than he was willing to allot her.

Then, he tightened his arms around her and pulled her in closely, holding onto her like a dying man holds onto life. "Thank _God_," he muttered into the crook of her neck. "Anna-Marie, you won't regret this, I promise you. I'm going to ensure that your life with me will be happier than anything you've known before. You won't be wanting for anything…"

Rogue threw her arms around his neck and clung to him tightly. She sighed contentedly, her momentary fears lifting quickly as if they'd never been plaguing her. Her heart, which had been pounding wildly all this time, finally began to slow down and the thunderous sound of it faded away. There was no doubt in her mind that she'd made the right decision – there would be regrets, yes, but it was unrealistic to think otherwise. She believed him when he promised he would make her happy; that would assuage her regrets over time, she knew it. Being with him would be more than enough. It would be _right_.

* * *

"You…you really love him, don't you?"

Rogue stopped her quick scan of her now vacated room, and turned to look at Kitty who was sat on one of the two suitcases that stood by the door – they contained all that she was taking. The younger girl was biting her lip and obviously on the verge of tears. Rogue felt a heavy stab of guilt…something that was somewhat assuaged as she crouched slightly and carefully hugged her former roommate tightly. "Ah'm sorry, Kit," she said sincerely as tears well up in her own eyes. "Ah love him, an' Ah can't imagine not goin' with him."

"What was it that…made you decide? To leave?" Kitty shivered and began to shake with silent crying.

"Ah asked him one last question…Ah wanted ta know what he saw when he looked at me."

"And he said the right thing?"

Rogue laughed shakily as she began crying as well. "Everyone at the Institute thinks Ah'm all closed up an' miserable. He…doesn't see that. He sees the girl Ah used ta be…the girl Ah wanna be again. He sees me as Anna-Marie, not Rogue."

Kitty pulled away and gaped despite her tears and obvious misery. "Anna-Marie?" she repeated, looking surprised. "That's your real name?"

"S'right."

"Why'd you never tell me?"

"No one here ever asked." Rogue shrugged and scrubbed at her reddening eyes. "Ah know it's petty, but Ah always figured that if y'all wanted ta know ya would've asked me outright. Ah was bitter…an' besides, Ah never thought Ah'd get ta be the girl Ah was before mah 'skin condition' again. Ah tried ta forget how happy Ah used ta be…"

Kitty broke into louder sobs. "_I_ would've helped!"

"Ah know…an' ya did anyway, without even knowin'." Rogue stood upright again and sighed. "Ah'm really sorry, Kitty. If anyone told me a couple months ago that this would've happened…"

"…You'd have laughed." Kitty sniffed and wiped away the trails of tears on her cheeks. "We'd all have laughed. I don't mean anything by that, but…" She sniffed again and gave Rogue a watery smile. "This is Magneto we're talking about here. No one here would've guessed, a couple of months ago, that he'd have a heart at all."

Rogue nodded, agreeing. "Ah certainly wouldn't have figured Ah'd ever be the object of his affections, that's for sure."

Kitty fished a tissue from the drawer of her nightstand nearby and blew her nose. "He'd better make you happy," she said warningly, fixing Rogue with a level stare. "Or I'll phase him out of his _stupid_ asteroid and into space."

The door opened a crack behind the red-eyed Kitty. "And I vill teleport him into a black hole," offered Kurt as he peered into the room. "It is quite chaotic at zhe end of zhe hall. Most of zhe students don't know vhat to think, but Cyclops for one is taking it rather personally. Wolverine is threatening to eviscerate Magneto on the front steps." He shrugged and smiled slightly at Rogue. "But ve all know how far he'd get vith zhat. He might manage to disturb zhe air in front of Magneto before he'd be twisted into a Moebius spiral."

"Ew," Kitty said, frowning at Kurt over the top of her tissue and wrinkling her nose.

Kurt slipped into the room and shut the door behind him. "I'm going to miss you, Rogue," he said bluntly.

"You too, Kurt," Rogue told him. She stepped around her suitcases and Kitty, enveloping him in a careful but strong hug. "Ah won't be outta ya lives forever, ya know. Ah'll try come back down ta see y'all."

"We'll make sure a bedroom's kept ready for you," Kitty offered, getting off of the suitcases and joining in the hug. "It won't be in the guest wing, either. That place smells like a hippy commune with all the incense Storm burns in the conservatory…"

"Ve'll make sure ve find a way to contact you," Kurt promised.

"Ah'll do the same," Rogue told them.

A moment or two passed in silence, before the younger mutants extracted their arms from around Rogue. She sighed and grasped her suitcases, one in either hand. "Thanks. For…toleratin' it. For all this. For understandin'."

"What kind of friends would we be if we didn't?" Kitty asked, smiling despite the fact that new tears were gathering in her eyes.

Rogue looked at the two of them for a long moment, trying to ignore that her own tears were flowing freely again. Her heart felt restricted but it was swelling in her chest, bursting at her ribs. She really _felt_ their forgiveness, their acceptance. They knew it was going to be hard, for her and for them, but they were accepting her choice anyway. They knew it wouldn't be the last they saw of her – they knew that parting for now didn't mean parting forever. They were so…so noble. Rogue knew she'd never find anyone like them again, and was so thankful that she wouldn't have to begin fruitlessly looking for others even now, even after all that had happened.

She sniffed and quickly rubbed her eyes dry. "Ah'll see y'all," she said quietly, then slipped out of the room with her luggage.

The door clicked shut behind her and she began to quietly move down the hallway. At the far end, in the shadows by the window that overlooked the front gardens, a handful of figures stood whispering and shifting nervously. Rogue paid them no attention and kept moving towards the staircase.

Something creaked at her right. Rogue stopped in mid-step to see what it was, and found Gambit there. He was staring at the bags in her hands, his face impassive. He looked up at her. "Leavin'?" he asked, his voice both casual and scratchy at the same time.

She nodded wordlessly.

"Righ'." He scrubbed a hand over his face and looked at her bags again. "Righ'."

"Ah _am_ sorry, Gambit."

He nodded, but didn't say anything. Instead, he turned and retreated into his room, slowly closing the door behind him as he reached into his trenchcoat for – undoubtedly – yet another cigarette. The door creaked on it's hinges and snapped shut with a soft click, just as a lighter snapped open and ignited. Rogue stared at the brass handle of the door for a moment, frowning, but moved on.

She descended the stairs quietly, still ignoring the whispers from the end of the hallway. At the bottom of the stairs, in the foyer, she encountered another figure – Wolverine. He noted her suitcases, but didn't say anything. Instead, he put a remarkably comforting hand on her shoulder and stopped her. "Kid…"

Rogue let her suitcases fall and turned, hugging him around his middle and catching them both by surprise. "Ah'm gonna miss ya, Wolvie."

"You too, Stripes." Wolverine told her gruffly, hugging her back. After a moment, they pulled back and he shook his head at her, looking bemused. "What the hell'd you just call me?"

She smiled at him and picked up her suitcases again.

At the front doors, which were still wide open to the dark night outside, Magneto had begun pacing the length of the terrace. His helmet still rested on the stone balustrade by the entrance. Rogue took a deep breath as she approached him, willing away the tears that still hung in her eyes. She knew that if he saw them he would assume she was having second thoughts. If he thought she was having second thoughts, it would start to worry him. She didn't want to do that. This was her choice – there were regrets, but she just couldn't imagine not being with him now. She wanted to start this new life with as few hindrances as possible. So she couldn't have him worrying about the tears in her eyes.

She stepped through the threshold into the night's air, and he caught sight of her. Was it just her imagination or did he relax slightly with relief? She smiled up at him as he approached her. Her bags were dropped once more as he gathered her to him – she snaked her arms around his neck as she did and pressed a kiss to his jaw. He caught the nape of her neck with a gentle hand and held her, leaning in to tenderly, thoroughly kiss her. The wind whipped around them, so that his heavy, cumbersome cape lapped at her bare legs as it enveloped them both. Rogue sighed against his mouth and shivered, though her goose-bumps had nothing to do with the cold air.

He pulled away after a long moment, though kept a firm hold on her to keep her eyes on him. "You haven't changed your mind, then? You will still leave with me?" he asked her quietly, searching her expression for any apprehension.

She kissed him again. "Let's go."

* * *

A/N: …and, that's it. We're done! Well, until the sequel, that is. In the interim, it's REVIEW TIME!

ishandahalf: Holy I think I owe you a lot in damages regarding your inner-Romy lover's injuries, Batman! Ha…oh, those openings were fun, weren't they? Seriously, what's the medical bills? I think I was more than a little responsible for some serious damage suffered by your inner Romy lover. It seemed every review you sent mentioned grievances towards that unfortunate party. Please don't sue:) You mentioned incompatibility between Remy and Rogue, but that's probably one of the selling points on the whole thing, isn't it? I know the tension certainly drew _me_ in, while I was still a diehard Romy-shipper. It's what distinguishes them from more button-down, vanilla-flavored pairings such as Jean and Scott. Anyway…glad you think I'm still on the right track with the internal monologue. It's quickly becoming a signature piece, isn't it? I'm also glad that you liked that chain-smoking bit. It felt right…so I added in a little more of it here, too. That boy's gonna have lung cancer by the age of thirty, if he keeps up like this. :P Anyhoo, thank you for reviewing from the early development of this story – your input was fantastic. Hope to hear from you when the sequel or my next fic is up. Thanks again!

willowaus: Everyone's so bloody betrayed, aren't they? I didn't dwell on that too much here, though; the end needed to have a nice big helping of smaltzy on it, or otherwise it'd look like she'd done the wrong thing and…well, I was setting out to make it look like _this_ was the best option. Funny you should mention her doing some good with Magneto, because that's actually going to be a major point in the sequel. Well, one of the major points. There's a few dominant plotlines in that one, but meh. You get what I'm saying. Anyway, thanks for sticking around and providing feedback for as long as you did – if I don't hear from you again in the sequel or my next project, it was great to have you along for the ride for this long regardless. Many, many thanks!

Elle Mooreside: Squealing with glee and Comic Book Guy references? I must say, I love your reviews. Hey, a bit off topic here, but did you know that apparently Comic Book Guy's real name is Louis Lane? Ha! It'd be funny if it were true, but I'm not sure. I could Google for confirmation, but I'm lazy. :D Glad you liked the Confrontation (I was a bit worried about it, but I'm getting positive feedback so far, so all's well I guess) and thank you for the expressed excitement over the sequel. Thanks also for the input over the course of your reviewing this story – muchly appreciated. Everyone likes positive reinforcement. Anyway, thanks again and I hope to hear from you at least once more, if not in the sequel or next fic I put up!

GWFreak315: You know, it's surprising but no one has requested that Rogue goes back to Remy for…for at least five chapters! Whether that's because I've made him out to be too much of a bad guy or what, it just doesn't look like Remy's got anyone in his corner. Oh well. Nuts to him, I guess. Well, nuts to him after this chapter, especially. I can't wait to see your story, by the way – there just aren't enough Magneto/Rogue stories out there! Could you tell me what it's going to be called? Anyway, I'm glad you liked my story – I hope to catch a line from you in my next fic or the sequel to this one, when I start posting it.

Sionnain: I was so freaking surprised to find reviews by you – I _love_ your stuff, with the rather disturbing Magneto and the confused, naïve Rogue that you write, and you write it so very well! The Rogue accent here is an icky one, though. The way I write it was introduced to me in the Evo fics about two years ago and…well, old habits die hard. I'm trying to clean it up a little – it _has_ been clearing slightly as the story progresses. By the sequel, I'll hopefully have a consistent accent scripted. Anyway…thanks for the compliments re: my writing style. That actually seems to be one of the hooks that gets me readers. Lots of people have commented on how they like it. So I keep doing it. By the way, I'm afraid I don't have an LJ account – I used to have a GJ account, but that petered out. I might swing by your LJ community and have a peek, regardless. If I could get the name of it…:) Say…swinging to another topic, it's also funny how you mentioned the brooding Magneto. I always liked that about him in the comics – he reflected, rather than just acted. It's going to change somewhat in the sequel, if that ever gets posted. There are going to be a few factors that prompt a more irrational, unthinking side of him into action…but I can't say much. Half the plotline is in that! Thank you for saying that I do the pairing justice, too. That means quite a bit coming from someone who does the same. :) Anyhoo, thanks for the reviewing-ness and I hope to hear from you again – whether you post your own new stuff or review mine.

thriller: The sorting out was half the problem – it's what Rogue gleaned from the conversation that makes all the difference here. Well, not _all_ the difference…but some kind of difference. Anyway. As you can see now, it made just enough difference so that Rogue left with Magneto. I guess spending her days with a group who doesn't trust her anymore would probably look slightly less appealing next to the idea of a whole new life with someone to love, huh:D Well, as requested, here is the last chapter of this story and there should be a sequel or similar fic arriving soon at a site near you. Hope to hear from you again!


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